v,--^. 


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9 


Price,  $3.50. 


LEAVES 

of 

Grass. 


Washington,   D.  C. 
1871. 

e\v-York:  J.  S.  REDFIKLD,  Pubmshkk,  140  Fulton  St.,  (up  .'^tairs.) 


W(7.^,-/\Yh^4". 


LEAVES 


9f 


Washington,  D.  C. 

1871. 

See  Advertisement  at  end  of  this  Volume. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1870,  by 

WALT  IFHITMAN, 
In  the  O^ce  rf  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washinzton. 


Electrotnied  by  Smith  &  McDougal,  S2  Beekman  Street,  New  York. 


COJ^TEMTS. 


fSCEIPTIONS. 

One's-Self  T  Sino-. .  page 

As  I  Ponder'd  iiTsiJencs   1 

In  Cabin'd  Ships  at  Sea. .  ]. 

To  Foreign  Lands ° 

To  a  Historian  .. .         ^^ 

For  Him  I  Sing .'; M 

When  I  read  tlio  Book \^ 

Beginning  my  Studies J? 

To  Thee  Old  Cause  !.  r ■'.■'.'.V^V^V^'.'.V.'.'.'.'.'.'. it 

arting  from  Paumanok .  „ 

le  Ship  Starting i;^ 

ifoldedout  of  the  Folds....  ~J 

)You 28 

alt  Whitman. . .  .V.  .V.  .V. 28 

ws  for  Creations 29 

sor'd y<5 

93 

iLDEEN  OF  Adam. 
To  the  Garden  the  World. ...  o'r  ^'^ 

From  Pent-up  Aching  Rivers n? 

I  Sing  the  Body  Electric Ji 

A  Woman  Waits  for  Me i^X 

Spontaneous  Me iJVi* 

One  Hour  to  Madness  and  joy. V.\ 

We  Two— How  long  M"e  were  Foo'l'd \\, 

Out  of  the  Eolling  Ocean,  the  Crowd \\i 

Native  Moments i..f. 

Once  I  pass'd  through  a  Populous  City.' i ?7 

Facing  West  from  California's  Shores  117/ 

Ai^es  and  Ages,  Returning  at  Intervals   1  iq 

Hymen  !  O  Hymenee  ! . . . .  1:t?, 

As  Adam,  Early" in  the  Morning.' '.'. ija^ 

THeard  You  Solemn-sweet  Pipes  of  the'Organ.'.'.'; m 

I  am  He  that  Aches  with  Love 1.  .......'. .'....'. lib 

Him  that  was  Crucified ...  i  <-„ 

•fectious '■'^ 

130 

:.AMUS. 

In  Paths  Untrodden .„ 

Scented  Herbage  of  My  Breas't.' .■..■.■.■;.■■. J.~J 

^t'-VT  «°''  ■'"■^'-  ^5^'^^PS  me  now  in  Hand .' ." .'  .".'.■. '. ". '.  ■.■;;. Isf 

Th|.M,singmgm  Spring .:::'.'.'.:::'.'.'.::  11 

Not  Heaving  from  My  "Ribiyd  Breast  'Only:  ;:::■.■.■.■.; fl 

Of  the  Terrible  Doubt  of  Appearances. ilS 

The  Base  of  all  Metaphysics. .. .   .  3S 

Recorders  Ages  Hence '.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'. 130 


iv  Contents. 

Catamus.  „         ,  ^-u    T.  ^^v' 

.  When  I  heard  at  the  Close  of  the  Day. ^,1 

Are  you  the  New  person,  drawn  toward  Me  ? ';; 

Koots  and  Leaves  Themscl ves  Alone ^-^ 

Kot  llcat  FJam^;^^  up  and  Consumes :f;< 

Trickle,  Drops ■ ':?, 

City  of  Oryies ;};| 

Behold  this  Swarthy  1>  aec ; :}'J- 

I  saw  in  Louisiana  a  Live  Oak  Growing i^ 

To  a  Slranijer •  •  • •  •  •  • 

This  moment,  Yearning  and  Thougntlul 

I  hear  it  was  Charged  against  Me • :jj 

The  Prairie-Grass  Dividing \V 

Wo  Two  Boys  Toircther  Clinging ^-V 

A  Promise  to  Califoniia  I3* 

Here  the  Frailest  Leaves  of  Me I'iS 

When  I  peruse  the  Conquer'd  Fame !•« 

What  think  You  I  take  my  Pen  in  Hand  ? M 

A  Glimpse J^ 

Ko  Labor-Saving  Machine J'j 

A  Leaf  for  Hand  in  Hand }M 

To  the  East  and  to  the  West i|i 

Earth  !  my  Likeness  ! |U 

I  DreamM  in  a  Dream        1  j] 

Fast  Anchor'd,  Eternal.  O  Love i^j 

Sometimes  with  One  I  Love I'jj 

That  Shadow,  n.y  Likeness 1- ; 

Among  tlie  Multitude 14. 

To  a  Western  Boy 1  '•* 

0  You  Whom  1  Often  and  Silently  come 11- 

Full  of  Life,  ^'ow l-t 

Saint  an  Monde _■ If; 

A  Child's  Amaze ' ISj 

The  Runner 15! 

Beautiful  Women l^' 

Mother  and  Babe 151 

Thought 15 

American  Fotiilla<.;e 15 

Song  of  the  Broad-Axe 1^ 

Song  of  the  Open  Road I'l 

Leaves  of  Grass. 

1  sit  and  Look  Out 1 

Me  Importurbe 13 

As  I  lay  with  my  Head  in  your  Lap,  Camcrado 10 

Crossing  Brooklyn  Ferry 10 

With  Antecedents 12 

The  Answerer. 

Now  list  to  my  Morning's  Eomanza 2C 

The  Indications 2( 

Poets  to  Come 2C 

I  Hear  America  Singing 2( 

The  City  Dead  House 2( 

A  rarrri-PicI ure 

Carol  of  Occupations 2( 

Thouchts ...     2 

The  Sleepers .  9 

Carol  of  Words 

Ah  Poverties,  Wincinga  and  Sulky  Retreats S 

Leaves  op  Grass. 

A  Boston  Ballad,  lS.->4 2 

Year  of  Meteors,  18o9-'60 2 


Contents.  y 

V  Broadway  Pageant '^'iSo 

suggestions ^^^ 

Sreatare  the  Myths ......'.'.'. „,„ 

Thought '.'..'.".'.'.■.■.■.'.'.■.■.'.■.■.'.■■. v..'.". ?ro 

tEATES  OF  Grass. 

There  was  a  Child  went  Forth t-^o 

Loncfincrg  for  Home j^_ 

Think  of  the  Soul '. .'. j-^" 

You  Felons  on  Trial  in  Coui'ts i^l 

To  a  Common  Prostitute f^^ 

I  was  Looking  a  Louir  While „"« 

ToaPresident J^X 

To  The  States '.'.'.■.'.'.".'.".'.■.".■.■.' '. '.  '.'\\\ gtO 

)eum-Taps. 

Drum-Taps „ . . 

1861 fi\ 

Beat !  Beat !  Drums ! '.'.'.V. ~y* 

From  Paumanok  Starting. i..r. 

Rise,  O  Davs ^t'*' 

City  of  Ships ■.  .■.■.■.■.■.■.■.■.■.■.■.■.■.■;. 'ifl 

The  Centenarian's  Story ~J!n 

An  Army  Corps  on  the  March. . .'.".'." ii.,. 

Cavalry  Crossing  a  Ford ii.y. 

Bivouac  on  a  Mountain  Side.  iii^ 

By  the  Bivouac's  Fitful  Flame     iij. 

Come  up  from  the  Fields,  Father.      ii-l 

Vigil  Stransje  I  Kept  on  the  Field  ooa 

A  March  iu'the  Ranks,  Hard-prest. 7^ 

Sight  in  Camp f. •;; ^81 

Not  the  Pilot,  &c. . . .  282 

As  Toilsome  I  Wander'd...    S? 

Year  that  Trembled. . .     .  SSf 

The  Dresser 284 

Long,  too  Long,  O  Land  !...'.. ~°^ 

Give  me  the  Splendid,  Silent  Sun...     oqq 

Dirge  for  Two  Veterans ^° 

Over  the  Carnage gjjj 

The  Artilleryman's  Vision. . ....'. i'^'z 

I  saw  Old  General  at  Bay i;['i 

O  Tan-faced  Prairie  Boy . . ...     ,' ~;  ^ 

Look  Down,  Fair  Moon „;;^ 

Reconciliation '/.'. ~;;5 

Spirit  whose  Work  is  Done. .       .'.". i^,f. 

How  Solemn  as  One  by  One oi  lil 

Not  Youth  Pertains  to  Me. ...  ifl 

To  the  Leaven'd  Soil  They  Trod  


£98 


lAVES  OF  GeASS. 

Manhattan  Streets  I  Saimter'd,' Pondering. lfy> 

AllisTrnth "     %)-;i 

^'"i-^*^^ ■•■.■.•.::;::::::;::;;:::;:;;:::::::::;::::  j^^ 

iECHES  NOW  THE  War  IS   OVER 

As  I  sat  Alone  by  Blue  Ontario's  shores  ....  onq 

Pioneers  !  O  Pioneers  1 ^ 

Respondez  ! °i' 

Turn,  O  Libertad °|| 

Adieu  to  a  Soldier ^i* 

As  I  walk  These  Broad,  Majestic  Days' Hi 

Weave  in.  Weave  in.  My  Hardy  Life.  qoo 

Race  of  Veterans ^;y. 

O  Sun  of  Real  Peace '. * T.y. 

340 


vi  Contents. 

Leaves  of  Grass.  iiagb 

Tins  Compost 341 

Unnamed  Lauds 3-13 

Manuahatta 'Ho 

Ola  Ireland 348 

To  Oratists! 3-t7' 

Solid,  Ironical,  Rolling  Orb 3-l!3 

Bathed  in  War's  Perfume. 

Bathed  in  War's  Perfume 34,) 

Delicate  Cluster 34) 

Song  of  tha  Banner  at  Day-Break 35  J 

Ethiopia  Saluting  the  Colors rA-7 

Lo !  Yictress  on  the  PeaIvS S,VS 

World,  Take  Good  Notice 3a8 

Thick-Sprinkled  Bunting 350 

A  Hand-Mirror...    3C0 

Germs 3(Ju  ' 

L3AVES  OF  Grass. 

O  Me  !  O  Life  ! 301 

Thoughts Sfil 

Beginners 3fi:i 

Sjnos  of  Insitrrection. 

Still,  though  the  One  I  sing 3C3 

To  a  foil'd  European  Rcvolutionaire S(i3 

France,  the  18th  year  of  Thes;;  Stateti 365 

Europe,  the  Tid  and  TSd  years  of  These  States 8(;7 

Walt  Whitman's  Caution SC!) 

To  a  Certain  Cautatrice 309 

Leaves  of  Grass. 

To  You  — 370 

SoNos  OF  Parting. 

As  the  Time  Draws  Nigh 373 

Years  of  the  Modern 373 

Thoughts. 375 

Song  at  Sunset .   377 

When  I  heard  the  Learn'd  Astronomer ]  /,[     ggO 

To  Rich  Givers ^SO 

Thought ■;. .  ■;.■.■;;  sso 

So  Long gsi 


Leaves  of  Grass. 


\  ONE'S-SELF   I  SING. 

^  One's-Self  I  sing — a  simple,  separate  Person  ; 
Yet  utter  the  word  Democratic,  the  word  En-masse. 

^  Of  Physiology  from  top  to  toe  I  sing ; 

Not  physiognomy  arlone,  nor  brain  alone,  is  worthy  for 

the  muse — I  say  the  Form  complete  is  worthier 

far  ; 
The  Female  equally  with  the  male  I  sing. 

^  Of  Life  immense  in  passion,  pulse,  and  power. 
Cheerful — for  freest  action  form'd,  under  the  laws  di- 
vine. 
The  Modern  Man  I  sinir. 


AS  I  PONDER'D  IN  SILENCE. 

1 

As  I  ponder'd  in  silence. 

Returning  uj)on  my  poems,  considering,  lingering  long, 
A  phantom  arose  before  me,  with  distrustful  aspect. 
Terrible  in  beauty,  age,  and  powei-, 


8  Leaves  of  Grass. 

The  genius  of  poets  of  old  lands, 

As  to  me  directing  like  flame  its  eyes, 

With  finger  pointing  to  many  immortal  songs. 

And  menacing  voice.  What  singest  thou  ?  it  said  ; 

Know'sl  thou  not,  there  is  but  one  theme  for  ever-enduring 

hards? 
And  that  is  the  theme  of  War,  the  fortune  of  battles. 
The  making  of  perfect  soldiers  ? 


Be  it  so,  then  I  answer'd, 

/  too,  haughty  SJiade,  also  sing  war — and  a  longer  and 
greater  one  than  any. 

Waged  in  my  book  with  varying  fortune — ivtth  fight,  ad- 
vance, and  retreat —  Victory  diferr'd  and  ivavering, 

( Yet,  methinhs,  certain,  or  as  good  as  certain,  at  the  last,) 
— The  field  the  world  ; 

For  life  and  death— for  the  Body,  and  for  the  eternal  Soul, 

Lo  !  I  too  am  come,  chanting  the  chant  if  battles, 

I,  above  all,  promote  brave  soldiers. 


IN  CABIN'D  SHIPS  AT  SEA. 


In  cabin'd  ships,  at  sea, 

The  boundless  blue  on  every  side  expanding, 

"With  whistling  winds   and   music   of  the  waves — the 

large  imperious  waves — In  such. 
Or  some  lone  bark,  buoy'd  on  the  dense  marine, 
Where,  joyous,  full  of  faith,  spreading  white  sails. 
She  cleaves  the  ether,  mid  the  sparkle  and  the  foam  of 

day,  or  under  many  a  star  at  night, 
By  sailors  young  and  old,  haply  will  I,  a  reminiscence 

of  the  laud,  be  read. 
In  full  rapport  at  last. 


Insckiptions. 


Here  are  our  thoughts — voyagers'  thoughts, 

Here  not  the  land,  firm  land,  alone  appears,  may  then  by 
them  be  said ; 

Tlie  sky  overarches  here — we  feel  the  undidaling  deck  be- 
neath our  feet. 

We  feel  the  long  pulsation — ebb  and  flow  of  endless  mo- 
tion ; 

Tlie  tones  of  unseen  mystery — the  vague  and  vast  sugges- 
tions of  the  briny  world — the  liquid-flowing  sylla- 
bles, 

Tlie  perfume,  the  faint  creaking  of  the  cordage,  the  mclan- 
choly  rhythm, 

The  boundless  vista,  and  the  horizon  far  and  dim,  are  all 
here, 

And  this  is  Ocean's  pioem. 


Then  falter  not,  O  book !  fulfil  your  destmy ! 

You,  not  a  reminiscence  of  the  land  alone, 

You  too,  as  a  lone  bark,  cleaving  the  ether — purpos'd  I 

know  not  whither — yet  ever  full  of  faith. 
Consort  to  every  ship  that  sails — sail  you ! 
Bear  forth  to  them,  folded,  my  love — (Dear  mariners ! 

for  you  I  fold  it  here,  in  every  leaf  ;) 
Speed  on,  my  Book  !  spread  your  white  sails,  my  little 

bark,  athwart  the  imperious  waves  ! 
Chant  on — sail  on — bear  o'er  the  boundless  blue,  fi'om 

me,  to  every  shore. 
This  song  for  mariners  and  all  their  ships. 


TO  FOREIGN  LANDS. 

I  HEARD  that  you  ask'd  for  something  to  prove  this 

puzzle,  the  New  World, 
And  to  define  America,  her  athletic  Democracy  ; 
Therefore  I  send  you  my  poems,  that  you  behold  in 

them  what  you  wanted. 


10  Leaves  of  Grass. 


TO  A  HISTORIAN. 

YoTJ  wlio  celebrate  bygones  ! 

Y/lio  have  explored  the  outward,  the  surfaces  of  the 

races — the  life  that  has  exhibited  itself  ; 
Who  have  treated  of  man  as  the  ci'eature  of  politics, 

aggregates,  rulers  and  priests  ; 
I,  habitan  of  the  Alleghanies,  treating  of  him  as  he  is 

in  himself,  in  his  own  rights, 
Pressing  the  pulse  of  the  life  that  has  seldom  exhibited 

itself,  (the  great  pride  of  man  in  himself  ;) 
Chanter  of  PersonaHty,  outlining  what  is  yet  to  be, 
I  i)roject  the  history  of  the  future. 


-  ,    —f\/\w\f/\jv\fir* 


FOR  HIM  I  SING. 


Foe  him  I  sing, 

I  raise  the  Present  on  the  Past, 

(As  some  perennial  tree,  out  of  its  roots,  the  present  on 
the  past  :) 

"With  time  and  space  I  him  dilate— and  fuse  the  im- 
mortal laws, 

To  make  himself,  by  them,  the  law  unto  himself. 


WHEN  I  READ  THE  BOOK. 

When  I  read  the  book,  the  biography  famous. 

And  is  this,   then,  (said  I,)  what  the  author  calls  a 

man's  life  ? 
And  so  will  some  one,  when  I  am  dead  and  gone,  write 

my  life  ? 


Inschiptions.  11 

(As  if  any  man  really  knew  aught  of  my  life  ; 

Why,  even  I  myself,  I  often  think,  know  little  or  noth- 
ing- of  my  real  life  ; 

Only  a  few  hints — a  few  diffused,  faint  clues  and  indi- 
rections, 

I  seek,  for  my  own  use,  to  trace  out  here.) 


BEGINNING  MY  STUDIES. 

Beginning  my  studies,  the  first  step  i)leas'd  me  so 
much. 

The  mere  fact,  consciousness — these  forms — the  power 
of  motion. 

The  least  insect  or  animal — the  senses — eyesight — 
love  ; 

The  first  step,  I  say,  aw'd  me  and  pleas'd  me  so  much, 

I  have  hardly  gone,  and  hardly  wish'd  to  go,  any  far- 
ther. 

But  stop  and  loiter  all  the  time,  to  sing  it  in  extatic 
sonafs. 


•  TO  THEE,  OLD  CAUSE! 

'  To  thee,  old  Cause ! 

Thou  peerless,  passionate,  good  cause ! 

Thou  stern,  remorseless,  sweet  Idea ! 

Deathless  throughout  the  ages,  races,  lands ! 

After  a  strange,  sad  war — great  war  for  thee, 

(I  think  all  war  through  time  was  really  fought,  and 

ever  will  be  really  fought,  for  thee  ;) 
These  chants  for  thee — the  eternal  march  of  thee. 

^  Thou  orb  of  many  orbs  ! 

Thou  seething  principle !  Thou  well-kept,  latent  germ ! 
Thou  centre ! 


12 


Leaves  or  Gf.ass. 


Around  the  idea  of  tliee  tlie  strange  sad  war  revolv- 
ing, 

"With  all  its  angry  and  vehement  play  of  causes, 

(With  yet  unknown  results  to  come,  for  thrice  a  thou- 
sand years,) 

These  recitatives  for  thee — my  Book  and  the  War  are 
one, 

Merged  in  its  spirit  I  and  mine — as  the  contest  hinged 
on  thee. 

As  a  wheel  on  its  axis  turns,  this  Book,  unwitting  to 
itself. 

Around  the  Idea  of  thee. 


Leaves  of  Grass. 


Starting  from   Paumanok. 


'  Staeteng  from  fisli-sliape  Paumanok,  vvlicre  I  v/as 
born, 

Well-begotten,  and  rais'cl  by  a  perfect  mother  ; 

After  roaming  many  lands — lover  of  populous  pave- 
ments ; 

Dweller  in  Mannaliatta,  my  city — or  on  southern  sa- 
vannas ; 

Or  a  soldier  camp'd,  or  carrying  my  knapsack  and  gun 
— or  a  miner  in  California  ; 

Or  rude  in  my  home  in  Dakota's  woods,  my  diet  meat, 
my  di'ink  from  the  spring  ; 

Or  withdrawn  to  muse  and  meditate  in  some  deep  re- 
cess. 

Far  from  the  clank  of  crowds,  intervals  passing,  rapt 
and  happy ; 

Aware  of  the  fresh  free  giver,  the  flowing  l^Iissouri — 
aware  of  mighty  Niagara  ; 

Aware  of  the  bulfaL  herds,  grazing  the  plains — the 
hirsute  and  strong-breasted  bull ; 

Of  earth,  rocks,  Fifth-month  flowers,  experienced — 
stai's,  rain,  snow,  my  amaze  ; 

Having  studied  the  mockiug-bii'd's  tones,  and  the 
mountain-hawk's. 

And  heard  at  dusk  the  unrival'd  one,  the  hermit  thrush 
from  the  swamp-cedars, 

Solitai-y,  singing  in  the  West,  I  strike  up  for  a  Nov/ 
World. 


il  Le-vves  of  Geass. 

2 

-  Victory,  union,  faith,  identity,  time, 

The  indissokible  compacts,  riches,  mystery. 

Eternal  progress,  the  kosmos,  and  the  modern  reports. 

^  This,  then,  is  life  ; 

Here  is  what  has  come  to  the  surface  after  so  many 
throes  and  convulsions. 

■*  How  curious  !  how  real ! 

Underfoot  the  divine  soil — overhead  the  sun. 

^  See,  revolving,  the  globe  ; 

The  ancestor-continents,  away,  j^Toup'd  together  ; 
The  present  and  future  continents,  north  and  south, 
with  the  isthmus  between. 

^  See,  vast'  trackless  spaces  ; 
As  in  a  dream,  they  change,  they  swiftly  fill ; 
Countless  masses  debouch  upon  them  ; 
They  are  now  cover'd  with  the  foremost  people,  arts, 
institutions,  kuov/n. 

'  See,  projected,  through  time, 
For  me,  aa  audience  interminable. 

^  With  firm  and  regular  step  they  wend — they  never  stop, 
Successions  of  men,  Americanos,  a  hundred  millions  ; 
One  generation  playing  its  part,  and  passing  on  ; 
Another  generation  playing  its  part,  and  i^assing  on  in 

its  tm'n, 
"With  faces  turn'd  sideways  or  backward  towards  me,  to 

listen. 
With  eyes  retrospective  towards  me. 

3 

"  Americanos!  conquerors!  marches  humanitarian  ; 
Foremost !  centmy  marches !  Libertad !  masses  ! 
For  you  a  programme  of  chants. 


SxARrn-ia  Fr.o:j  pAUiUi:;oK.  15 

"^  Clianta  of  tlia  prairies  ; 

Chants  of  the  long-running  Mississippi,  and  dovrn  to 

the  Mexican  sea ; 
Chants  of  Ohio,  Indiana,  Illinois,  Iowa,  Wisconsin  and 

Minnesota  ; 
Chants  going  forth  from  the  centre,  from  Kansas,  and 

thence,  equi-distant, 
Shooting  in  pulses  of  fire,  ceaseless,  to  vivify  all. 

4 

''  In  the  Year  80  of  The  States, 

My  tongue,  every  atom  of  my  blood,  form'd  from  this 

soil,  this  air. 
Born  here  of  parents  born  here,  from  parents  the  same, 

and  their  parents  the  same, 
I,  now  thu"ty-six  years  old,  in  perfect  health,  begin, 
Hoping  to  cease  not  till  death. 

'-  Creeds  and  schools  in  abeyance, 

(Retiring  back  a  while,  sufficed  at  what  they  arc,  but 

never  forgotten,) 
I  harboi",  for  good  or  bad — I  permit  to  speah,  at  every 

hazard, 
Narare  now  without  checli,  with  original  energy. 


'^  Take  my  leaves,  America  !  take  them,  South,  and  take 
them,  North  ! 

Make  welcome  for  them  everywhere,  for  they  are  your 
o^m  offspring  ; 

Surround  them.  East  and  West!  for  they  would  sur- 
round you  ; 

And  you  precedents !  connect  lovingly  with  them,  for 
they  connect  lovingly  with  you. 

'^  I  conn'd  old  times  ; 

I  sat  studying  at  the  feet  of  the  great  masters  : 
Now,  if  eligible,  O  that  the  great  masters  might  return 
and  study  me ! 


16  Leaves  of  Grass. 

'^  la  tlie  name  of  These  States,  shall  I  scoru  the  an- 
tique ? 

Why  These  are  the  children  of  the  antique,  to  jus- 
tify it. 

6 

'"  Dead  poets,  philosophs,  priests. 

Martyrs,  artists,  inventors,  governments  long  since, 

Language-shapers,  on  other  shores. 

Nations  once  powerful,  now  reduced,  withdrawn,  or 
desolate, 

I  dare  not  proceed  till  I  respectfully  credit  what  you 
have  left,  wafted  hither  : 

I  have  j)erused  it — ov/n  it  is  admirable,  (moving  awhile 
among  it ;) 

Think  nothing  can  ever  be  greater — nothing  can  ever 
deserve  more  than  it  deserves  ; 

Regarding  it  all  intently  a  long  while — then  dismiss- 
ing it, 

I  stand  in  my  place,  with  my  own  day,  here. 

"  Here  lands  female  and  male  ; 

Here  the  heir-ship  and  heiress-ship  of  the  world — here 

the  flame  of  materials  ; 
Here  Spirituality,  the  translatress,  the  opeuly-avow'd. 
The  ever-tending,  the  finale  of  visible  forms  ; 
The  satisfier,  after  due  long- waiting,  now  advancing, 
Yes,  here  comes  my  mistress,  the  Soul. 


'«  The  Soul  : 

Forever  and  forever — longer  than  soil  is  brown  and 
solid — longer  than  water  ebbs  and  flows. 

'^  I  will  make  the  poems  of  materials,  for  I  think  they 
are  to  be  the  most  spiritual  poems  ; 

And  I  will  make  the  poems  of  my  body  and  of  mor- 
tality, 

For  I  think  I  shall  then  supply  myself  with  the  poems 
of  my  Soul,  and  of  immortality. 


Starting  from  Paumanok.  17 

*"  I  will  make  a  song  for  These  States,  that  no  one  State 

may  under  any  circumstances  be  subjected  to 

another  State  ; 
And  I  will  make  a  song  that  there  shall  be  comity  by 

day  and  by  night  between  all  The  States,  and 

between  any  two  of  them  ; 
And  I  will  make  a  song  for  the  ears  of  the  President, 

full  of  weapons  v/ith  menacing  points, 
And  behind  the  weajjons  countless  dissatisfied  faces  : 
— And  a  song  make  I,  of  the  One  form'd  out  of  aU  ; 
The  fang'd  and  glittering  One  whose  head  is  over  all ; 
Resolute,  warlike  One,  including  and  over  all ; 
(However  high  the  head  of  any  else,  that  head  is  over 

ah.) 

-'  I  will  aclcnowledge  contemporary  lands  ; 

I  wiU  trail  the  whole  geography  of  the  globe,  and  sa- 
lute courteously  every  city  large  and  small  ; 

And  employments  !  I  will  put  in  my  poems,  that  with 
you  is  heroism,  upon  lacd  and  sea  ; 

And  I  will  report  aU  heroism  from  an  American  point 
of  view. 

"'■  I  will  sing  the  song  of  comj^anionship  ; 

I  will  show  what  alone  must  finally  compact  These  ; 

I  believe  These  are  to  found  their  own  ideal  of  manly 
love,  indicating  it  in  me  ; 

I  wiU  therefore  let  flame  from  me  the  burning  fires  that 
were  threatening  to  consume  me  ; 

I  will  lift  what  has  too  long  kept  down  those  smoulder- 
ing fires ; 

I  will  give  them  complete  abandonment ; 

I  will  write  the  evangel-poem  of  comrades,  and  of  love  ;' 

(For  who  but  I  should  understand  love,  with  all  its  sor- 
row and  joy  ? 

And  who  but  I  should  be  the  jDoet  of  comrades?) 

8 

^^  I  am  the  credulous  man  of  quahties,  ages,  races  ; 
I  advance  from  the  people  in  their  own  spirit ; 
Here  is  what  sings  unrestricted  faith. 


18  Leaves  oe  Grass. 

***  Omnes  !  Omnes !  let  others  ignore  what  they  may  ; 
I  make  the  poem  of  evil  also — I  commemorate  that  part 

also  ; 
I  am  myself  just  as  much  evil  as  good,  and  my  nation 

is — And  I  say  there  is  in  fact  no  evil ; 
(Or  if  there  is,  I  say  it  is  just  as  important  to  you,  to 

the  land,  or  to  me,  as  anything  else.) 

'^  I  too,  following  many,  and  follow'd  by  many,  inau- 
gurate a  Religion — I  descend  into  the  arena  ; 

(It  may  be  I  am  destin'd  to  utter  the  loudest  cries  there, 
the  winner's  pealing  shouts  ; 

Who  knows  ?  they  may  rise  from  me  yet,  and  soar  above 
every  thing.) 

^®  Each  is  not  for  its  own  sake  ; 

I  say  the  whole  earth,  and  all  the  stars  in  the  sky,  are 
for  Religion's  sake. 

^^  I  say  no  man  has  ever  yet  been  half  devout  enough  ; 
None  has  ever  yet  adored  or  worship'd  half  enough  ; 
None  has  begun  to  think  how  divine  he  himseK  is,  and 
how  certain  the  future  is. 

^^  I  say  that  the  real  and  permanent"  grandeur  of  These 
States  must  be  their  Religion  ; 

Otherwise  there  is  no  real  and  permanent  grandeur*  : 

(Nor  character,  nor  life  worthy  the  name,  vvithout  Reli- 
gion ; 

Nor  land,  nor  man  or  vv'oman,  without  Religion.) 

9 

^^  What  are  you  doing,  young  man  ? 

Are  you  so  earnest — so  given  up  to  literature,  science, 

art,  amours? 
These  ostensible  realities,  politics,  points? 
Your  ambition  or  business,  whatever  it  may  be  ? 

'"  It  is  well — Against  such  I  say  not  a  word — I  am 
their  poet  also  ; 


Starting  feom  Paumanok.  19 

But  behold !    such  swiftly  subside — buint  up  for  Reli- 

giou's  sake  ; 
For  not  all  matter  is  fuel  to  heat,  impalpable  flame,  the 

essential  life  of  the  earth, 
Any  more  than  such  are  to  Religion. 

10 

^'  "What  do  you  seek,  so  joensive  and  silent  ? 
What  do  you  need,  Camerado  ? 
Bear  son  !    do  you  think  it  is  love  ? 

^'  Listen,  dear  son — listen,  America,  daughter  or  son ! 
It  is  a  painful  thing  to  love  a  man  or  v/oman  to  excess 

— and  yet  it  satisfies — it  is  great ; 
But  there  is  something  else  very  great — it  makes  the 

whole  coincide  ; 
It,    magoificent,    beyond    materials,   with    continuous 

hands,  sweeps  and  provides  for  all. 

11 

^^  Know  you  !    solety  to  drop  in  the  earth  the  germs  of 

a  greater  Religion, 
The  following  chants,  each  for  its  kind,  I  sing. 

^  My  comrade ! 

For  you,  to  share  with  me,  two  greatnesses — and  a  third 
one,  rising  inclusive  and  more  resplendent. 

The  greatness  of  Love  and  Democracy — and  the  great- 
ness of  Religion. 

^°  Melange  mine  own !  the  unseen  and  the  seen  ; 
Mysterious  ocean  where  the  streams  empty  ; 
Prophetic  spirit  of    materials    shifting  aud   flickering 

around  me  ; 
Living  being!?,  identities,  nov/  doubtless  near  us,  in  the 

air,  that  we  know  not  of  ; 
Contact  daily  and  hourly  that  will  not  release  me  ; 
These  selecting — these,  in  hints,  demanded  of  me. 


20  Leaves  of  Gkass. 

^^  Not  lie,  witli  a  daily  kiss,  onward  from  cliildhood 
kissing  me, 

Has  winded  and  twisted  around  me  that  which  holds 
me  to  him, 

Any  more  than  I  am  held  to  the  heavens,  to  the  spir- 
itual world. 

And  to  the  "identities  of  the  Gods,  my  lovers,  faithful 
and  true. 

After  what  they  have  done  to  me,  suggesting  themes. 

^'  O  such  themes !     Equalities ! 
O  amazement  of  things !     O  divine  average  ! 
O  warblings  under  the  sun — usher'd,  as  now,  or  at  noon, 
or  setting ! 

0  strain,  musical,  flowing  through  ages — now  reaching 

hither ! 

1  take  to  your  reckless  and  composite  chords — I  add  to 

them,  and  cheerfully  pass  them  forward. 

12 

'®  As  I  have  walk'd  in  Alabama  my  morning  walk, 
I  have  seen  where  the  she-bird,  the  mocking-bird,  sat 
on  her  nest  in  the  briers,  hatching  her  brood. 

"^  I  have  seen  the  he-bird  also  ; 

I  have  paused  to  hear  him,  near  at  hand,  inflating  his 
throat,  and  joyfully  singing. 

*°  And  while  I  paused,  it  came   to  me  that  what  he 

really  sang  for  was  not  there  only, 
Nor  for  his  mate,  nor  himself  only,  nor  all  sent  back  by 

the  echoes  ; 
But  subtle,  clandestine,  away  beyond, 
A  charge  transmitted^,  and  gift  occult,  for  those  being 

born. 

13 

^'  Democracy ! 

Near  at  hand  to  you  a  throat  is  now  inflating  itself  and 
joyfully  singing. 


Stakting  from  Paujianok.  21 

"  Ma  femme ! 

For  the  brood  beyond  us  and  of  us, 

For  those  who  belong  here,  and  those  to  come, 

I,  exultant,  to  be  ready  for  them,  will  now  shake  out 

carols  stronger  and  haughtier  than  have  ever  yet 

been  heard  upon  earth. 

^  I  will  make  the  songs  of  passion,  to  give  them  their 

way, 
And  your   songs,  outlaw'd   offenders — for  I  scan  you 

with  kindi'ed  eyes,  and  carry  you  with  me  the 

same  as  any. 

**  I  will  make  the  true  poem  of  riches. 
To  earn  for  the  body  and  the  mind  whatever  adheres, 
and  goes  forward,  and  is  not  di"opt  by  death, 

^  I  will  effuse  egotism,  and  show  it  underlying  all — and 

I  will  be  the  bard  of  personality  ; 
And  I  will  show  of  male  and  female  that  either  is  but 

the  equal  of  the  other  ; 
And  sexual  organs  and  acts  !   do  you  concentrate  in  me 

— for  I  am  determin'd  to  tell  you  with  courageous 

clear  voice,  to  prove  3'ou  illustrious  ; 
And  I  will  show  that  there  is  no  imperfection  in  the 

present — and  can  be  none  in  the  future  ; 
And  I  wiU  show  that  whatever  happens  to  anybody,  it 

may  be  turn'd  to  beautiful  results — and  I  will 

show  that  nothing  can  happen  more  beautiful 

than  death  ; 
And  I  will  thread  a  thread  through  my  poems  that  time 

and  events  are  compact, 
And  that  all  the  things  of  the  universe  arc  perfect  mii-a- 

cles,  each  as  profoiuid  as  any. 

*®  I  will  not  make  poems  with  reference  to  j)arts  ; 

But  I  will  make  leaves,  poems,  poemets,  songs,  says, 

thoughts,  with  reference  to  ensemble  : 
And  I  will  not  sing  with  reference  to  a  day,  but  with 

reference  to  all  days  ; 
And  I  will  not  make  a  poem,  nor  the  least  part  of  a 

poem,  but  has  reference  to  the  Soul ; 


22  Leaves  of  Geacs. 

(Because,  having  looli'd  at  the  objects  of  the  universe, 
I  find  there  is  no  one,  nor  any  particle  of  one, 
but  has  reference  to  the  Soul.) 

1^ 

■^^  "Was  somebody  ashing  to  see  the  Soul  ? 

See !  your  own  shape  and  countenai:ice — persons,  sub- 
stances, beasts,  the  trees,  the  iiiuning  rivers,  the 
rocks  and  sands. 

■^^  All  hold  spiritual  joys,  and  afterwards  loosen  them  : 
How  can  the  real  body  ever  die,  and  be  buried  ? 

■*'  Of  your  real  bod}',  and  any  man's  or  woman's  real  body, 
Item  for  item,  it  will  elude  the  hands  of  the  corpse- 
cleaners,  and  pass  to  fitting  spheres, 
Carrying  w^iat  has  accrued  to  it  from  the  moment  of 
birth  to  the  moment  of  death. 

^^  Not  the  types  set  up  by  the  printer  return  theii'  im- 
pression, the  meaning,  the  main  concern. 

Any  more  than  a  man's  substance  and  life,  or  a  wo- , 
man's  substance  and  life,  return  in  the  body  and 
the  Soul, 

Indifferently  before  death  and  after  death. 

^'  Behold  !  the  body  includes  and  is  the  meaning,  the 
main  concern — and  includes  and  is  the  Soul  ; 

"Whoever  you  are !  how  superb  and  how  divine  is  youi* 
body,  or  any  part  of  it. 

15 

'-  Whoever  you  are !  to  you  endless  announcements. 

"  Daughter  of  the  lands,  did  j'ou  wait  for  your  poet  ? 
Did  you  wait  for  one  with  a  flowing  mouth  and  indica- 
tive hand  ? 

^'  Toward  the  male  of  The  States,  and  toward  the  fe- 
male of  The  States, 
Live  words — v/ords  to  the  lands. 


Stakting  fro:.i  Paumanok.  23 

^°  O  the  lands  !  interlink'd,  food-yielding  lands  ! 

Land  of  coal  and  iron !  Land  of  gold !  Lands  of  cot- 
ton, sngar,  rice ! 

Land  of  wheat,  beef,  pork  !  Land  of  v/ool  and  hemp  ! 
Land  of  the  apple  and  grajoe  ! 

Land  of  the  pastoral  plains,  the  grass-fields  of  the 
•world !  Land  of  those  sweet-air 'd  interminable 
plateaus !. 

Land  of  the  herd,  the  garden,  the  healthy  house  of 
adobie ! 

Lands  where  the  northwest  Columbia  winds,  and  where 
the  south w^ect  Colorado  winds  ! 

Land  of  the  eastern  Chesapeake !  Land  of  the  Dela- 
ware ! 

Land  of  Ontario,  Erie,  Huron,  Michigan  ! 

Land  of  the  Old  Thirteen !  Massachusetts  land  !  Land 
of  Vermont  and  Connecticut ! 

Land  of  the  ocean  shores  !  Land  of  sierras  and  peaks  ! 

Land  of  boatmen  and  sailors  !  Fishermen's  land ! 

Inextricable  lands !  the  clutch'd  together !  the  passion- 
ate ones ! 

The  side  by  side !  the  elder  and  younger  brothers !  the 
bouy-iimb'd ! 

The  great  women's  land !  the  feminine  !  the  experienced 
sisters  and  the  inexperienced  sisters  ! 

Far  breath'd  land  !  Arctic  braced !  Mexican  breez'd  ! 
the  diverse  !  the  compact ! 

The  Pennsylvanian  !  the  Virginian !  the  double  Caro- 
linian ! 

0  all  and  each  "well-loved  by  me  !   my  intrepid  nations ! 

O  1  at  any  rate  include  you  all  w-ith  perfect  love  ! 

1  cannot  be  discharged-  from  you  I   not  from  one,  any 

sooner  than  another ! 

0  Death !  O  for  all  that,  I  am  yet  of  you,  unseen,  this 
hour,  with  iri'epressiblo  love. 

Walking  New  England,  a  friend,  a  traveler, 

Splashing  my  bare  feet  in  the  edge  of  the  summer  rip- 
ples, on  Paumanok's  sands. 

Crossing  the  prairies — dv/elhng  again  in  Chicago — 
dwelling  in  every  town, 

Observing  shows,  births,  improvements,  structures,  arts, 


24:  Leaves  of  Geass. 

Listening  to  the  orators  and  the  oratresses  in  public 

halls, 
Of  and  through  The  States,  as  during  life — each  man 

and  woman  my  neighbor, 
The  Louisianian,  the  Georgian,  as  near  to  me,  and  I  as 

near  to  him  and  her, 
The  MississipiDian  and  Ai'kansian  yet  with  me — and  I 

yet  with  any  of  them  ; 
Yet  upon  the  plains  west  of  the  spinal  river — yet  in  my 

house  of  adobie, 
Yet  returning  eastward — ^yet  in  the  Sea-Side  Stats,  or 

in  Maryland, 
Yet  Kanadian,  cheerily  braving  the  winter — the  snow 

and  ice  welcome  to  me, 
Yet  a  true  son  either  of  Maine,  or  of  the  Granite  State, 

or  of   the   Narragansett  Bay  State,  or  of   the 

Empire  State  ; 
Yet   sailing  to  other  shores  to  annex  the  same — yet 

Tv^elcoming  every  new  brother  ; 
Hereby  applying  these  leaves  to  the  new  ones,  from 

the  hour  they  unite  with  the  old  ones  ; 
Coming  among  the  new  ones  myself,  to  be  their  com- 
panion  and    equal — coming  personally  to   you 

now  ; 
Enjoining  you  to  acts,  characters,  spectacles,  with  me. 

16 

^•^  With  me,  with  firm  holding — yet  haste,  haste  ou. 

"  For  your  life,  adhere  to  me ! 

Of  all  the  men  of  the  earth,  -I  only  can  unloose  yon 
and  toughen  you  ; 

I  may  have  to  be  persuaded  many  times  before  I  con- 
sent to  give  myself  really  to  you — but  what  of 
that  ? 

Must  not  Nature  be  persuaded  many  times  ? 

^^  No  dainty  dolce  affettuoso  I ; 

Bearded,  sun-burnt,  gray-neck'd,  forbidding,  I  have 
arrived. 


SrARTING    FROM   PaDMANOK.  25 

To  be  wrestled  with  as  I  pass,  for  tlie  solid  prizes  of 

the  universe  ; 
For  such  I  afford  whoever  cau  persevere  to  win  them. 

17 

^"  On  my  way  a  moment  I  pause  ; 

Here  for  you !  and  here  for  America ! 

Still  the  Present  I  raise  aloft— Still  the  Futui'e  of  The 

States  I  harbinge,  glad  and  sublime  ; 
And  for  the  Past,  I  pronounce  w^hat  the  air  holds  of 

the  red  aborigines. 

^^  The  red  aborigines ! 

Leaving  natural  breaths,   sounds  of  rain   and  winds, 

calls   as   of   birds   and   animals  in  the  woods, 

syllabled  to  us  for  names  ; 
Okonee,  Koosa,  Ottawa,  IMonongahela,  Sauk,  Natchez, 

Chattahoochee,  Kaqueta,  Oronoco, 
Wabash,  Miami,  Saginaw,  Chippewa,  Oshkosh,  Yfalla- 

WaUa; 
Leaving  such  to  The  States,  they  melt,  they  depart, 

charging  the  water  and  the  land  v.'ith  names. 

18 

"  0  expanding  and  swift !  0  henceforth, 

Elements,  breeds,  adjustments,  turbulent,  quick,  and 
audacious  ; 

A  world  j)i'in3al  again — Vistas  of  glory,  incessant  and 
branching  ; 

A  new  race,  dominating  previous  ones,  and  grander 
far — with  new  contests, 

Kew  politics,  new  literatures  and  religions,  new  in- 
ventions and  arts. 

^^  These  !  my  voice  announcing — I  will  sleep  no  more, 
but  arise  ; 

You  oceans  that  have  been  calm  within  me!  how  I 
feel  you,  fathomless,  stirring,  preparing  unpre- 
cedented waves  and  storms. 


26  Leaves  of  Gkass. 


19 

"^  -See  !  steamers  steaming  through  my  poems ! 

See,  in  my  poems  immigrants  continually  coming  and 

landing  ; 
See,  in  arriere,  the  wigwam,  the  trail,  the  hunter's  hut, 

the  flat-boat,  the  maize-leaf,  the  claim,  the  rude 

fence,  and  the  backwoods  village  ; 
See,  on   the   one   side   the  Western  Sea,   and  on  the 

other  the  Eastern  Sea,  how  they  advance  and 

retreat   upon    my   poems,    as   upon    their   own 

shores. 

See,  pastures  and  forests  in  my  poems — See,  animals, 
wild  and  tame — See,  beyond  the  Kanzas,  count- 
less herds  of  bufialo,  feeding  on  short  curly 
.       grass  ; 

See,  in  my  poems,  cities,  solid,  vast,  inland,  with  paved 
streets,  with  iron  and  stone  edifices,  ceaseless 
vehicles,  and  commerce  ; 

See,  the  many-cylinder'd  steam  printing-press — See, 
the  electric  telegraph,  stretching  across  the 
Continent,  from  the  AVestern  Sea  to  Manhat- 
tan ; 

See,  through  Atlantica's  depths,  pulses  American, 
Europe  reaching — pulses  of  Europe,  duly  re- 
tuim'd  ; 

See,  the  strong  and  quick  locomotive,  as  it  departs, 
panting,  blowing  the  steam-whistle  ; 

See,  ploughmen,  ploughing  farms — See,  miners,  dig- 
ging mines — See,  the  numberless  factories  ; 

See,  mechanics,  busy  at  theii'  benches,  with  tools — 
See  from  among  them,  superior  judges,  philo- 
sophs.  Presidents,  emerge,  di'est  in  working- 
dresses  ; 

See,  lounging  through  the  shops  and  fields  of  The 
States,  me,  well-beloVd,  close-held  by  day  and 
night ; 

Hear  the  loud  echoes  of  my  songs  there !  Read  the 
hints  come  at  last. 


Stakting  from  Paumanok.  27 

20 

"  O  Camerado  close  ! 

O  you  and  mc  at  last — and  us  two  only. 

*^^  O  a  word  to  clear  one's  path  abead  endlessly ! 

0  something  extatic   and  uudemoustrable !     0  music 

wild ! 
O  now  I  triumph — and  you  shall  also  ; 
O  hand  in  hand — O  wholesome  pleasure — O  one  more 

desii'er  and  lover ! 
O  to  haste,  firm  holding — to  haste,  haste  on,  with  me. 


THE  SHIP   STARTING. 

Lo  !  THE  unbounded  sea ! 

On  its  breast  a  Ship  starting,  spreading  all  her  sails — 

an  ample  Ship,  carrying  even  her  moonsails  ; 
The  pennant  is  flying  aloft,  as  she  speeds,  she  speeds 

so  stately — below,  emulous  waves  press  forward, 
They  surround  the  Ship,  with  shining  ciu'ving  motions, 

and  foam. 


28  Leaves  of  Geass. 


UNFOLDED  OUT  OF  THE  FOLDS. 

Untolded  out  of  the  folds  of  the  woman,  man  comes 
unfolded,  and  is  always  to  come  unfolded  ; 

Unfolded  only  out  of  the  superbest  woman  of  the  earth, 
is  to  come  the  superbest  man  of  the  earth  ; 

Unfolded  out  of  the  friendliest  woman,  is  to  come  the 
fi'iendliest  man  ; 

Unfolded  only  out  of  the  perfect  body  of  a  woman,  can 
a  man  be  form'd  of  perfect  body  ; 

Unfolded  only  ou.t  of  the  inimitable  poem  of  the  wo- 
man, can  come  the  poems  of  man — (only  thence 
have  my  poems  come ;) 

Unfolded  out  of  the  strong-  and  arrogant  woman  I  love, 
only  thence  can  appear  the  strong  and  arrogant 
man  I  love  ; 

Unfolded  by  brawny  embraces  fi'om  the  well-muscled 
woman  I  love,  only  thence  come  the  brawny  em- 
braces of  the  man  ; 

Unfolded  out  of  the  folds  of  the  woman's  brain,  come 
all  the  folds  of  the  man's  brain,  duly  obedient ; 

Unfolded  out  of  the  justice  of  the  woman,  all  justice  is 
unfolded  ; 

Unfolded  out  of  the  sympathy  of  the  woman  is  all  sym- 
pathy : 

A  man  is  a  great  thing  upon  the  earth,  and  through 
eternity — but  everj'  jot  of  the  greatness  of  man 
is  unfolded  out  of  woman. 

First  the  man  is  shaped  in  the  woman,  ho  can  then  be 
shaped  in  himself. 


-^so&Sj&Ss**- 


TO    YOU. 

Stbanger  !  if  you,  passing,  meet  me,  and  desire  to  speak 

to  me,  why  should  you  not  sjieak  to  me  ? 
And  why  should  I  not  speak  to  you  ? 


Leaves  of  Grass. 


WALT  WHITMAN. 


*  I  CELEBRATE  mjself  ; 
And  what  I  assume  you  sliall  assume  ; 
For  every  atom  belonging  to  me,  as  good  belongs  to 
you. 

-  I  loafe  and  invite  my  Soul  ; 

I  lean  and  loafe  at  my  ease,  observing  a  spear  of  sum- 
mer grass. 

^  Houses  and  rooms  are  full  of  perfumes — the  shelves 

are  crowded  with  perfumes  ; 
I  breathe  the  fragrance  myself,  and  know  it  and  like  it  ^ 
The  distillation  would  intoxicate  me  also,  but  I  shall 

not  let  it. 

■*  The  atmosphere  is  not  a  perfume — it  has  no  taste  of 
the  distillation — it  is  odorless  ; 

It  is  for  my  mouth  forever — I  am  in  love  with  it ; 

I  will  go  to  the  bank  by  the  wood,  and  become  undis- 
guised and  naked  ; 

I  am  mad  for  it  to  be  in  contact  with  me. 

2 

^  The  smoke  of  my  own  breath  ; 

Echoes,  ripples,  buzz'd  whispers,  love-root,  silk-thread, 

crotch  and  vine  ; 
My  respiration  and  inspiration,  the  beating  of  my  hearty 

the  passing  of  blood  and  air  through  my  lungs ; 


30  Le^wes  of  GeaslS. 

The  sniff  of  green  leaves  and  dry  leaves,  and  of  the 

shore,  and  dark-color'd  sea-rocks,  and  of  hay  in 

the  barn  ; 
The  sound  of  the   belch'd  words  of  my  voice,  words 

loos'd  to  the  eddies  of  the  wind  ; 
A  few  light  kisses,  a  few  embraces,  a  reaching  around 

of  arms  ; 
The  play  of  shine  and  shade  on  the  trees  as  the  supi)le 

boughs  wag ; 
The  delight  alone,  or  in  the  rush  of  the  streets,  or  along 

the  fields  and  hill-sides  ; 
The  feeling  of  health,  the  full-noon  trill,  the  song  of  me 

rising  from  bed  and  meeting  the  sun. 

^  Have  you  reckon'd  a  thousand  acres  much  ?  have  jon 

reckon'd  the  earth  much  ? 
Have  you  j^ractis'd  so  long  to  learn  to  read  ? 
Have  you  felt   so  proud   to   get   at   the   meaning   of 

poems  ? 

'  Stop  this  day  and  night  with  me,  and  you  shall  pos- 
sess the  origin  of  all  poems  ; 

You  shall  possess  the  good  of  the  earth  and  sun — 
(there  are  milhons  of  suns  left ;) 

¥ou  shall  no  longer  take  things  at  second  or  third 
hand,  nor  look  through  the  ej^es  of  the  dead, 
nor  feed  on  the  spectres  in  books  ; 

You  shall  not  look  through  my  eyes  either,  nor  take 
things  fi'om  me  : 

You  shall  listen  to  all  sides,  and  filter  them  from  your- 
self. 


^  I  have  heard  what  the  talkers  were  talking,  the  talk 

of  the  beginning  and  the  end  ; 
But  I  do  not  talk  of  the  beginning  or  the  end. 

^  There  was  never  any  more  inception  than  there  is 

now, 
Nor  any  more  youth  or  age  than  there  is  novr ; 


Walt  Whitman.  31 

And  will  never  be  any  more  perfection  than  there  is 

now, 
Nor  any  more  heaven  or  hell  than  there  is  now. 

'"  Urge,  and  urge,  and  urge  ; 

Always  the  procreant  urge  of  the  world. 

"  Out  of  the  dimness  opposite  equals  advance — always 
substance  and  increase,  always  sex  ; 

Always  a  knit  of  identity — always  distinction — always  a 
breed  of  life. 

"  To  elaborate  is  no  avail — learn'd  and  uulearn'd  feel 
that  it  is  so. 

'^  Sure  as  the  most  certain  sure,  plumb  in  the  uprights, 

well  entretied,  braced  in  the  beams. 
Stout  as  a  horse,  affectionate,  haughty,  electrical, 
I  and  this  mystery,  here  we  stand. 

'■*  Clear  and  sv/eet  is  my  Soul,  and  clear  and  sweet  is  all 
that  is  not  my  Soul. 

"  Lack  one  lacks  both,  and  the  unseen  is  jjrovcd  by 

the  seen. 
Till   that   becomes  unseen,   and  receives  proof  in  its 

turn. 

'^  Showing  the  best,  and  dividing  it  from  the  worst, 

age  vexes  age  ; 
Knowing  the  perfect  fitness  and  equanimity  of  things, 

while  they  discuss  I  am  silent,  and  go  l?atho  and 

admire  myself. 

"  Welcome  is  every  organ  and  attribute  of  me,  and  of 

any  man  hearty  and  clean  ; 
Not  an  inch,  nor  a  particle  of  an  inch,  is  vile,  and  none 

shall  be  less  familiar  than  the  rest.      _ 


32"  Leaves  oe  Ghass. 

'*  I  am  satisfied — I  see,  dance,  langli,  cing  ; 

As  the  liiiggiug  and  loving  Bed-fellow  sleeps  at  my  side 

tlarough  the  night,  and  withdraws  at  the  peej)  of 

the  day,  with  stealthy  tread. 
Leaving  me  baskets  cover'd  with  white  towels,  swelling 

the  house  with  theii*  plenty, 
Shall  I  postpone  my  acceptation  and  realization,  and 

scream  at  my  eyes. 
That  they  turn  from  gazing  after  and  down  the  road. 
And  forthwith  cijiher  and  show  me  a  cent, 
Exactly  the  contents  of  one,  and  exactly  the  contents  of 

two,  and  which  is  ahead  ? 


"  Trippers  and  askers  surround  me  ; 

Peoj)le  I  meet — the  effect  upon  me  of  my  early  life,  or 

the  ward  and  city  I  live  in,  or  the  nation, 
The    latest    dates,    discoveries,    inventions,    societies, 

authors  old  and  new. 
My  dinner,  dross,  associates,  looks,  compliments,  dues, 
The  real  or  fancied  indifference  of  some  man  or  woman 

I  love. 
The  sickness  of  one  of  my  folks,  or  of  myself,  or  ill- 
doing,  or  loss  or  lack  of  money,*  or  depressions 

or  exaltations ; 
Battles,  the   horrors   of   fratricidal  war,  the   fever   of 

doubtful  news,  the  fitful  events  ; 
These  come  to  mo  days  and  nights,  and  go  fi'cr^  me 

again. 
But  they  arc  not  the  Me  myfjelf. 

^  Apart  from  the  pulling  and  hauling  stands  what  I 
am  ; 

Stands  amused,  complacent,  compassionating,  idle,  uni- 
tary ; 

Looks  down,  is  erect,  or  bends  an  arm  on  an  impalpable 
certain  rest. 

Looking  with  side-curved  head,  curious  what  will  come 
next ; 


"Walt  Whitmait.  33 

Both  in  and  out  of  the  game,  and  watching  and  won- 
dering at  it. 

■'  Backward  I  see  in  my  own  days  where  I  sweated 

through  fog  with  hnguists  and  contenders  ; 
I  have  no  mockings  or  arguments — I  witness  and  wait. 


°-  I  beheve  in  you,  mj^  Soul — the  other  I  arn  must  not 

abase  itself  to  you  ; 
And  you  must  not  be  abased  to  the  other. 

°^  Loafe  with  me  on  the  grass — loose  the   stop   from 

your  throat ; 
E'ot  words,  not  music  or  rhyme  I  want — not  custom  or 

lecture,  not  even  the  best ; 
Only  the  lull  I  like,  the  hum  of  your  valved  voice. 

'*  I  mind  how  once  we  lay,  such  a  transparent  summer 

morning ; 
How  you  settled  your  head  athwart  my  hij)s,  and  gently 

turn'd  over  upon  me, 
And  parted  the  shirt  fi'om  my  bosom-bone,  and  plunged 

your  tongue  to  my  bare-stript  heart. 
And  reach'd  till  you  felt  my  beard,  and  reach'd  till  you 

held  my  feet. 

^^  Swiftly  arose  and  spreael  around  me  the  peace  and 

knowledge   that   pass  all  the  argument  of  the 

earth  ; 
And  I  know  that  the  hand  of  God  is  the  promise  of  my 

own. 
And  I  know  that  the  spirit  of  God  is  the  brother  of  my 

own  ; 
And  that  all  the  men  ever  born  are  also  my  brothers, 

and  the  womeu  my  sisters  and  lovers  ; 
And  that  a  kelson  of  the  creation  is  love  ; 
And  limitless  are  leaves,  stiff  or  drooping  in  the  fields  ; 
And  brown  ants  in  the  little  wells  beneath  them  ; 
And  mossy  scabs  of  the  worm  fence,  and  heap'd  stones, 

elder,  muUcn  and  poke-weed. 


34  Le-vvls  or  Grass. 

6 

*°  A  cliild  said,  What  is  the  gras3  ?  fetching  it  to  rae  with 

,  full  hands ; 
How  could  I  answer  the  child  ?     I  do  not  know  what  it 
is,  any  more  than  he. 

"  I  guess  it  must  be  the  flag  of  my  disposition,  out  of 
hopeful  green  stuff  woven. 

"**  Or  I  guess  it  is  the  handkerchief  of  the  Lord, 
A  scented  gift  and  remembrancer,  designedlj^  dropt, 
Bearing  the  owner's  name  someway  in  the  corners,  that 
we  may  see  and  remark,  and  say,  Whose  ? 

•"  Or  I  guess  the  grass  is  itself  a  child,  the  produced 
babe  of  the  vegetation. 

"°  Or  I  guess  it  is  a  uniform  hieroglyjDhic  ; 

And  it  means.  Sprouting  alike  in  broad  zones  and  nar- 
row zones. 

Growing  among  black  folks  as  among  white  ; 

Kanuck,  Tuckahoe,  Congressman,  Cuff,  I  give  them  the 
same,  I  receive  them  the  same. 

^'  And  now  it  seems  to  me  the  beautiful  uncut  hair  of 
graves. 

^-  Tenderly  will  I  iise  you,  curling  grass  ; 

It  may  be  you   transpire   fi'om   the   breasts  of  young 

men  ; 
It  may  be  if  I  had  known  them  I  would  have  loved 

them  ; 
It  may  be  you  are  from  old  people,  and  from  women, 

and    from    offspring    taken    soon    out   of    their 

mothers'  laps  ; 
And  here  you  are  the  mothers'  laps. 

*^  This  grass  is  very  dark  to  be  fi-om  the  white  heads  of 

old  mothers ; 
Darker  than  the  colorless  beards  of  old  men  ; 
Dark  to  come  from  under  the  faint  red  roofs  of  mouths. 


Walt  WniTMAN.  35 

^01  perceive  riter  a,ll  so  many  uttering  tongues ! 
And  I  perceive  they  do  not  come  from  tlie  roofs  of 
mouths  for  nothing. 

^  I  wish  I  could  translate  the  hiaats  about  the  dead 

young  men  and  women, 
And  the  hints  about  old  men  and  mothers,  and  the 

olTspring  taken  soon  out  of  their  lajDs. 

"^  What  do  you  think  has  become  of  the  j^oung  and 

old  men  ? 
And  what  do  you  think  has  become  of  the  women  and 

children  ? 

^'  They  are  alive  and  well  somewhere  ; 

The  smallest  sprout  shows  there  is  really  no  death  ; 

And  if  ever  there  was,  it  led  forward  life,  and  does  not 

wait  at  the  end  to  arrest  it. 
And  ceas'd  the  moment  hfe  appear' d. 

"^  All  goes  onward  and  outward — nothing  collapses  ; 
And  to  die  is  different  from  what  any  one  su^Dposed, 
and  luckier. 


^"  Has  any  one  supposed  it  lucky  to  be  born  ? 
I  hasten  to  inform  him  or  her,  it  is  just  as  lucky  to  die, 
and  I  know  it. 

**  I  pass  death  with  the  dying,  and  birth  with  the  nev>'- 

wash'd  babe,  and  am  not  contain'd  between  my 

hac  and  boots  ; 
And  peruse  manifold  objects,  no  two  alike,  and  every 

one  good  ; 
The  earth  good,  and  the  stars  good,  and  their  adjuncts 

all  good. 

■*'  I  am  not  an  earth,  nor  an  adjunct  of  an  earth  ; 

I  am  the   mate   and  companion  of  people,  all  just  as 

immorta,l  and  fathomless  as  myself  ; 
(They  do  not  know  how  immortal,  but  I  know.) 


36  Leavks  of  Geass. 

^-  Every  kind  for  itself  aud  its  own — for  me  mine,  malo 

and  female  ; 
I''or  me   tliose   tliat  have  been  boys,    and    that  fove 

women  ; 
For  me  the  man  that  is  loroiid,  and  feels  bow  it  stings 

to  be  slighted  ; 
For  me   the    svveet-beart   and   tbe   old  maid — for  mo 

mothers,  and  the  mothers  of  mothei*s ; 
For  me  li}3S  that  have  smiled,  eyes  that  have  shed  tears  ; 
For  me  cliildrcn,  and  the  begetters  of  children. 

^^  Undrapo !  you  are  not  guilty  to  me,  nor  stale,  nor 

discarded  ; 
I  see  through  the  broadcloth  and  gingham,  whether 

or  no  ; 
And  am   around,  tenacious,  acquisitive,  tireless,   and 

cannot  be  shaken  away. 

8 

^  The  little  one  sleeps  in  its  cradle  ; 
I  Hft  the   gauze,  and  look  a  long  time,  and  silently 
brush  away  flies  with  my  hand. 

*^  The  youngster  and  the  red-faced  giii  tui'n  aside  x\p 

the  bushy  hill  ; 
I  peeringly  view  them  from  the  top. 

^^  The  suicide  sprawls  on  the  bloody  floor  of  the  bed- 
room ; 

I  witness  the  corpse. with  its  dabbled  hair — I  note 
where  the  pistol  has  fallen. 

"  The  blab  of  the  pave,  the  tires  of  carts,  sluff  of  boot- 
soles,  talk  of  the  promcnaders ; 

The  heavy  omnibus,  the  driver  with  his  interrogating 
thumb,  the  clank  of  the  shod  horses  on  the 
granite  floor  ; 

The  snow-sleighs,  the  clinking,  shouted  jokes,  pelts  of 
snow-balls  ; 


Walt  Whitman.  3t 

The  hiirralis  ici*  popiilar  favorites,  the  fury  of  rous'd 

mobs  ; 
The  flai^  of  the  cnrtain'd  littei',  a  sick  man  inside,  borne 

to  the  hospital ; 
The  meeting-  of  enemies,  the  sudden  oath,  the  blows 

and  fall  ; 
The  excited  crowd,  the  policeman  with  his  star,  quickly 

working  his  passage  to  the  centre  of  the  crowd ; 
The  impassive  stones  that  receive  and  return  so  many 

echoes ; 
What  gToans  of  over-fed  or  haK-starv'd  who  fall  sun- 
struck,  or  in  fits ; 
What   exclamations   of  women   taken   suddenly,  who 

hurry  home  and  give  birth  to  babes  ; 
■WTiat  liviug  and  buried   speech  is   always  vibrating 

here — what  howls  restrain'd  by  decorum  ; 
Arrests  of    criminals,  slights,  adulterous   offers  made, 

acceptances,  rejections  with  convex  lips  ; 
I  mind   them   or  the   show  or  resonauco  of  them — I 

come,  and  I  depart. 


''^  The  big  doors  of  the   country  barn  stand  open  and 

ready ; 
The  dried   grass  of  the  harvest- time  loads  the  slow- 

di'awn  wagon  ; 
The  clear  light  plays  on  the   brovv^   gray  and   green 

intertinged ; 
The  armfiils  are  pack'd  to  the  sagging-  mow. 

^'  I  am  there — I  help — I  came  stretch'd   atop  of   the 

load  ; 
I  felt  its  soft  jolts — one  leg  reclined  on  the  other ; 
I  jump  from  the  cross-beams,  and  seize  the  clover  and 

timothy. 
And  roll  head  over  heels,  and  tangle  my  hair  full  of 

wisps. 

10 

^"  Alonf^,  far  in  the  wilds  and  mountains,  I  hunt, 


38  Leaves  of  Grass. 

Wandering,  amazed  at  my  own  Uglitness  and  glee  ; 

In  the  late   afternoon  claoosing  a  safe  spot  to  pass  the 

night, 
Kindling  a  fire  and  broiling  the  fresh-kill'd  game  ; 
FalHng  asleep  on  the  gather'd  leaves,  with  my  dog  and 

gun  by  my  side. 

"  The  Yankee  clipper  is  nnder  her  sky-s^ils — she  cuts 

the  sparkle  and  scud  ; 
M-j  eyes  settle  the  land — I  bend  at  her  prow,  or  shout 

joyously  from  the  deck. 

^'-  The  boatmen  and  clam-diggers  arose  early  and  stopt 

for  me  ; 
I  tuclc'd  my  trowser-ends  in  my  boots,  and  went  and 

had  a  good  time  : 
(Yon  should  have  been  with  us  that  day  round  the 

chowder-kettle.) 

"  I  saw  the  marriage  of  the  trapper  in  the  open  air  in 
the  far  west — the  bride  was  a  red  girl ; 

Her  father  and  his  friends  sat  near,  cross-legged  and 
dumbly  smoking — they  had  moccasins  to  their 
feet,  and  large  thick  blankets  hanging  from  their 
shoulders  ; 

On  a  bank  lounged  (he  trapper — he  was  drest  mostly  in 
skins — his  luxuriant  beard  and  curls  protected 
his  neck — he  held  his  bride  by  the  hand  ; 

She  had  long  eyelashes — her  head  was  bare — her  coarse 
straight  locks  descended  upon  her  voluptuous 
limbs  and  reach'd  to  her  feet. 

^'  The  runaway  slave  came  to  my  house  and  stopt  out- 
side ;. 

I  heard  his  motions  crackling  the  tvv'igs  of  the  wood- 
pile ; 

Through  the  svv'ung  half-door  of  the  kitchen  I  saw  him 
limpsy  and  weak. 

And  went  where  he  sat  on  a  log,  and  led  him  in  and 
assured  him. 


Walt  Whitmah.  39 

Aud   brouglit   water,  and  fill'd  a,  tub  for  bis  sweated 

body  and  bruis'd  feet, 
And  gave  bim  a  room  that  enter'd  from  my  own,  and 

gave  bim  some  coarse  clean  clothes. 
And  remember  perfectl}'  well  bis  revolving  eyes  and  his 

awkwardness. 
And  remember  putting  plasters  on  the  galls  of  bis  neck 

and  ankles  ; 
He  staid  with  me  a  Aveek  before  he  was  recuperated  and 

pass'd  north  ; 
(I  had  bim  sit  next  mo  at  table — my  fire-lock  lean'd  in 

the  corner.) 

11 

*'  Twenty-eight  young  men  bathe  by  the  shore  ; 
Twenty-eight  young  men,  and  all  so  friendly  : 
Twenty-eight  years  of  womanly  life,  and  all  so  lone- 
some. 

^'^  She  owns  the  fine  house  by  the  rise  of  the  bank  ; 
She  hides,  handsome  and  richly  drest,  aft  the  blinds  of 
the  window. 

'''  Which  of  the  young  men  does  she  like  the  best? 
Ah,  the  homeliest  of  them  is  beautiful  to  her. 

^*  Where  are  you  off  to,  lady  ?  for  I  see  you ; 
You  splash  in  the  v/ater  there,  yet  stay  stock  still  in 
your  room. 

^■•'  Dancing  and  laughing   along  the  beach   came   the 

twenty-ninth  bather  ; 
The  rest  did  not  see  her,  but  she  saw  them  and  loved 

them. 

""  The  beards  of  the  young  men  glisten'd  with  wet,  it 

ran  from  their  long  hair  : 
Little  streams  pass'd  all  over  their  bodies. 

"  An  unseen  hand  also  pass'd  over  their  bodies  ; 

It  descended  tremblingly  from  their  temples  and  ribs. 


40  Leaves  of  Grass. 

®^  The  young  men  float  on  their  "backs — their  white  bel- 
lies bulge  to  the  sun — they  do  not  ask  who  seizes 
fast  to  them  ; 

They  do  not  know  who  puffs  and  declines  with  pendant 
and  bending  arch  ; 

They  do  not  think  whom  they  souse  with  spray. 

12 

^^  The  butcher-boy  puts  off  his  killing  clothes,  or 
sharpens  his  knife  at  the  stall  in  the  market  ; 

I  loiter,  enjoying  his  repartee,  and  his  shuffle  and 
break-down. 

"  Blacksmiths  with  grimed  and  hairy  chests  environ 

the  anvil ; 
Each  has  his  main-sledgc — they  are  aU  out — (there  is 

a  great  heat  in  the  fire.) 

^^  From   the   cinder-strcw'd  threshold   I  foUow  their 

movements  ; 
The  lithe  sheer  of  then-  waists  plays  even  with  their 

massive  arms  ; 
Over-hand  the  hammers  swing — over-hand  so  slow — 

over-hand  so  sure  : 
They  do  not  hasten — each  man  hits  in  his  place. 

13 

•^^  The  negro  holds  firmly  the  reins  of  his  four  horses 

■ — the  block  swags  underneath  on  its  tied-over 

chain  ; 
The  negro  that  drives  the  dray  of  the  stone-yard — 

steady  and  tall  he  stands,  pois'd  on  one  leg  on 

the  string-piece  ; 
His  blue  shirt  exposes  his  ample  neck  and  breast,  and 

loosens  over  liis  hip-band  ; 
His  glance  is  calm  and  commanding — he   tosses  the 

slouch  of  his  hat  away  from  his  forehead  ; 
The  sun  falls  on  his  crispy  hair  and  moustache — falls 

on  the  black  of  his  polish'd  ami  iiorfoct  limbs. 


WiVLT  Whitman.  41 

"  I  beliold  the  picturesque  giant,  and  love  biin — and  I 

do  not  stop  there  ; 
I  go  with  the  team  also. 

^^  In  me  the  earesser  of  life  wherever  moving — back- 
ward as  well  as  forward  slueing  ; 
To  niches  aside  and  junior  bending. 

"^  Oxen  that  rattle  the  yoke  and  chain,  or  halt  in  the 
leafy  shade!  what  is  that  you  express  in  your 
eyes? 

It  seems  to  me  more  than  all  the  print  I  have  read  in 
my  life. 

'°  My  tread  scares  the  wood-drake  and  wood-duck,  on 

my  distant  and  day-long  ramble  ; 
They  rise  together — they  slowly  circle  around. 

"  I  believe  in  those  wing'd  purposes. 

And  acknowledge  red,  yellow,  white,  playing  within  me, 

And  consider  green  and  violet,  and  the  tufted  crown, 

intentional ; 
And  do  not  call  the  tortoise  unworthy  because  she  is 

not  something  else  ; 
And  the  jay  in  the  woods  never  studied  the  gamut,  yet 

trills  pretty  well  to  me  ; 
And  the  look  of  the  bay  mare  shames  silliness  out  of 

me. 


14 

'-  The  wild  gander  leads  his  flock  through  the  cool 

night ; 
Ya-honl- !  he  says,  and  sounds  it  down  to  me  like  an 

invitation  ; 
(The  pert  may  suppose  it  meaningless,  but   I  listen 

close  ; 
I  find  its  pm-pose  and  place  up  there  toward  the  wintrj 

sky.) 


42  Leaves  of  Geass. 

"  The  sliarp-lioof  d  moose  of  the  north,  the  cat  on  the 
house-sill,  the  chickadee,  the  prairie-dog, 

The  litter  of  the  grunting  sow  as  they  tug  at  her  teats, 

The  brood  of  the  turkey-hen,  and  she  with  her  half- 
spread  wings  ; 

I  see  in  them  and  myself  the  same  old  law. 

"  The  press  of  my  foot  to  the  earth  springs  a  hundred 

affections  ; 
They  scorn  the  best  I  can  do  to  relate  them. 

"  I  am  enamour'd  of  growing  out-doors. 

Of  men  that  live  among  cattle,  or  taste  of  the  ocean  or 

Avoods, 
Of  the  builders  and  steerers  of  ships,  and  the  wielders 

of  axes  and  mauls,  and  the  drivers  of  horses  ; 
I  can  eat  and  sleep  with  them  week  in  and  week  out. 

'^  What  is  commonest,  cheapest,  nearest,  easiest,  is  Me  ; 
Me  going  in  for  my  chances,  spending  for  vast  returns  ; 
Adoi'ning  myself  to  bestow  myself  on  the  first  that  v\'ili 

take  me  ; 
Not  asking  the  sky  to  co  vn  down  to  my  good  will ; 
Scattering  it  freely  forevcj. 

15 

"  The  pure  contralto  sings  in  the  organ  loft ; 

The  carpenter  dresses  his  plank — the  tongue  of  his 

foreplane  whistles  its  wild  ascending  lisp  ; 
The  married  and  unmarried  children  ride  home  to  their 

Thanksgiving  dinner  ; 
The  pilot  seizes  the  king-pin — he  heaves  dovt'n  with  a 

strong  arm  ; 
The  mate  stands  braced  in  the  whale-boat — lance  and 

harpoon  are  ready  ; 
The  duck-shooter  walks  by  silent  and  cautious  stretches  ; 
The  deacons  are  ordain'd  with  cross'd  hands  at  the 

altar  ; 
The  spinning-girl  retreats  and  advances  to  the  hum  of 

the  bii?  v/he:l  ; 


Walt  Whitman.  43 

The  farmei'  stops  by  the  bars,  as  he  walks  on  a  First- 
day  loafe,  and  looks  at  the  oats  and  rye  ; 

The  lunatic  is  carried  at  last  to  the  asyluni,  a  confirm'd 
case, 

(He  will  never  sleep  any  more  as  ho  did  in  the  cot  in 
his  mother's  bed-room  ;) 

The  jonr  printer  with  gray  head  and  gaunt  jaw3  works 
at  his  ease. 

He  tui'ns  his  quid  of  tobacco,  while  his  ejes,  blurr  wiLh 
the  manuscript ; 

The  malform'd  limbs  are  tied  to  the  surgeon's  table. 

What  is  removed  drops  horribly  in  a  pail ; 

The  quadroon  girl-  is  sold  at  the  auction-stand — the 
drunkard  nods  by  the  bar-room  stove  ; 

The  machinist  rolls  up  his  sleeves — the  policeman  trav- 
els his  beat — the  gate-keeper  marks  who  pass  ; 

The  young  fellow  di'ives  the  express-wagon — (I  love 
him,  though  I  do  not  know  him  ;) 

The  half-breed  straps  on  his  light  boots  to  compete  in 
the  race  ; 

The  western  turkey-shooting  draws  old  and  young — 
some  lean  on  their  rifles,  some  sit  on  logs, 

Out  from  the  crowd  steps  the  marksman,  takes  his 
position,  levels  his  piece  ; 

The  groups  of  newly-come  immigrants  cover  the  wharf 
or  levee  ; 

As  the  woolly-pates  hoe  in  the  sugar-field,  the  overseer 
views  them  from  his  saddle  ; 

The  bugle  calls  in  the  ball-room,  the  gentlemen  run 
for  their  partners,  the  dancers  bow  to  each 
other  ; 

The  youth  lies  awake  in  the  cedar-roof 'd  garret,  and 
harks  to  the  musical  rain  ; 

The  Wolverine  sets  traps  on  the  creek  that  helps  fill  the 
Huron ; 

The  squaw,  wrapt  in  her  yellow-hemm'd  cloth,  is  offer- 
ing moccasins  and  bead-bags  for  sale  ; 

The  connoisseur  peers  along  the  exliibition-gallery  with 
half-shut  eyes  bent  sideways  ; 

As  the  deck-hands  make  fast  the  steamboat,  the  plank 
is  throvv^n  for  the  shore-going  passengers  ; 


41  _  Leaves  of  Grass. 

The  young  sister  holds  out  the  skein,  while  the  elder 

sister  -winds  it  off  in  a  ball,  and  stops  now  and 

then  for  the  knots  ; 
The  one-year  wife  is  recovering  and  happy,  having  a 

week  ago  borne  her  first  child  ; 
The  cleau-hair'd  Yankee  girl  works  with  her  sewing- 

macliine,  or  in  the  factory  or  miU  ; 
The  nine  months'  gone  is  in  the  partui'ition  chamber, 

her  faintness  and  pains  are  advancing  ; 
The  paving-man  leans  on  his  two-handed  rammer — ^the 

reporter's  lead  flies  swiftly  over  the  note-book — 

the  sign-painter  is  lettering  with  red  and  gold  ; 
The  canal  boy  trots  on  the  tow-path — the  book-keeper 

counts  at  his  desk — the  shoemaker  waxes  his 

thread ; 
The  conductor  beats  time  for  the  band,  and  all  the  per- 
formers follow  him  ; 
The  child  is  baptized — the  convert  is  making  his  first 

professions  ; 
The  regatta  is  sj^read  on  the  bay — the  race  is  begun — 

how  the  white  sails  sparkle ! 
The  drover,  watching  his  di'ove,  sings  out  to  them  that 

would  stray  ; 
The  pedler  sweats  with  his  x^ack  on  his  back,  (the  pur- 
chaser higgling  about  the  odd  cent ;) 
The  camera  and  plate  are  prepared,  the  lady  must  sit 

for  her  daguerreotj'pe ; 
The  bride  unrumples  her  white  dress,  the  minute-hand 

of  the  clock  moves  slowly  ; 
The  opium-eater   reclines  with  rigid  head  and  just- 

open'd  lips  ; 
The  prostitute  draggles  her  shawl,  her  bonnet  bobs  on 

her  tipsy  and  pimpled  neck  ; 
The  crowd  laugh  at  her  blackguard  oaths,  the  men  jeer 

and  wink  to  each  other  ; 
(Miserable !   I  do  not  laugh  at  youi*  oaths,  nor  jeer 

you  ;) 
The  President,  holding  a  cabinet  council,  is  surrounded 

by  the  Great  Secretaries  ; 
On  the  piazza  walk  three  matrons  stately  and  friendly 

with  twined  arms  : 


Walt  Whitman.  45 

The  crew  of  tlie  fish-smack  pack  repeated  layers  of  hal- 
ibut in  the  hold  ; 

The  Missourian  crosses  the  plains,  toting  his  wares  and 
his  cattle  ; 

As  the  fare-collector  goes  through  the  train,  he  gives 
notice  by  the  jingling  of  loose  change  ; 

The  floor-men  are  laying  the  floor — the  tinners  are 
tinning  the  roof — the  masons  are  calling  for 
mortar  ; 

In  single  file,  each  shouldering  his  hod,  pass  onward 
the  laborers  ; 

Seasons  pursuing  each  other,  the  indescribable  crowd  is 
gather'd — it  is  the  Fourth  of  Seventh-month — 
(What  salutes  of  cannon  and  small  arms !) 

Seasons  pursuing  each  other,  the  plougher  ploughs,  the 
mower  mows,  and  the  winter-grain  falls  in  the 
ground ; 

Oft  on  the  lakes  the  pike-fisher  watches  and  waits  by 
the  hole  in  the  frozen  surface  ; 

The  stumps  stand  thick  round  the  clearing,  the  squatter 
strikes  deep  with  his  axe  ; 

Flatboatmen  make  fast,  towards  dusk,  near  the  cotton- 
wood  or  pekan-trees ; 

Coon-seekers  go  through  the  regions  of  the  Red  river, 
or  through  those  di'ain'd  by  the  Tennessee,  or 
through  those  of  the  Arkansaw  ; 

Torches  shine  in  the  dark  that  hangs  on  the  Chatta- 
hooche  or  Altamahaw  ; 

Patriarchs  sit  at  sapper  with  sons  and  grandsons  and 
great-grandsons  around  them  ; 

In  walls  of  adobie,  in  canvas  tents,  rest  hunters  and 
trappers  after  their  daj^'s  sport ; 

The  city  sleeps,  and  the  country  sleeps  ; 

The  living  sleep  for  their  time,  the  dead  sleep  for  their 
time ; 

The  old  husband  sleeps  by  his  wife,  and  the  young  hus- 
band sleeps  by  his  wife  ; 

And  these  one  and  all  tend  inward  to  me,  and  I  tend 
outward  to  them  ; 

And  such  as  it  is  to  be  of  these,  more  or  less,  I  am. 


4:6  Leaves  of  Geass. 

16 

'^  I  am  of  old  and  young,  of  tlie  foolisli  as  much  as  the 
wise  ; 

Regardless  of  others,  ever  regardful  of  others, 

Maternal  as  "well  as  paternal,  a  child  as  well  as  a  man, 

Stuff'd  with  the  stuff  that  is  coarse,  and  stuff 'd  with  the 
stuff'  that  is  fine  ; 

One  of  the  Great  Nation,  the  nation  of  many  nations, 
the  smallest  the  same,  and  the  largest  the  same  ; 

A  southerner  soon  as  a  northerner — a  planter  non- 
chalant and  hospitable,  down  by  the  Oconee  I 
live  ; 

A  Yankee,  bound  my  own  way,  ready  for  trade,  my 
joints  the  limberest  joints  on  earth,  and  the  stern- 
est joints  on  earth  ; 

A  Kentuckian,  walking  the  vale  of  the  Elkhorn,  in  my 
deer-skin  leggings — a  Louisianian  or  Georgian  ; 

A  boatman  over  lakes  or  baj'S,  or  along  coasts — a 
Hoosier,  Badger,  Buckeye  ; 

At  home  on  Kanadian  snow-shoes,  or  up  in  the  bush,  or 
with  fishermen  off'  Newfoundland  ; 

At  home  in  the  fleet  of  ice-boats,  sailing  with  the  rest 
and  tacking ; 

At  home  on  the  hills  of  Vermont,  or  in  the  woods  of 
Maine,  or  the  Texan  ranch  ; 

Comrade  of  Californians — comrade  of  free  north-west- 
erners, (loving  their  big  proportions  ;) 

Comrade  of  raftsmen  and  coalmen — comrade  of  all  who 
shake  hands  and  welcome  to  drink  and  meat ; 

A  learner  with  the  simj)lest,  a  teacher  of  the  thought- 
fuUest ; 

A  novice  beginning,  yet  esperieut  of  myriads  of  sea- 
sons ; 

Of  every  hue  and  caste  am  I,  of  every  rank  and  reh- 
gion ; 

A  farmei',  mechanic,  artist,  gentleman,  sailor,  quaker  ; 

A  prisoner,  fancy-man,  rowdy,  lawyer,  physician,  priest. 

"  I  resist  anything  better  than  my  own  diversity  ; 


TValt  WniTMiVN.  47 

I  breathe  the  ah',  but  leave  plenty  after  me, 
And  am  not  stuck  np,  and  am  in  my  place. 

^^  (The  moth  and  the  fish-eggs  are  in  their  place  ; 
The  suns  I  see,  and  the  suns  I  cannot  see,  are  in  their 

place  ; 
The  palpable  is  in  its  j)lace,  and  the  impalpable  is  in  its 

place.) 

17 

^'  These  are  the  thoughts  of   all  men  in  all  ages  and 

lands — they  are  not  original  with  me  ; 
If  they  are  not  yoiu's  as  much  as  mine,  they  are  nothing, 

or  next  to  nothing  ; 
If  they  are  not  the  riddle,  and  the  untying  of  the  riddle, 

they  are  nothing  ; 
If  they  are  not  just  as  close  as  they  are  distant,  they  are 

nothing. 

®^  This  is  the  grass  that  gi'ows  •wherever  the  land  is,  and 

the  water  is  ; 
This  is  the  common  air  that  bathes  the  globe. 

18 

^^  With  music  strong  I  come — with  my  cornets  and  my 

drums, 
I  play  not  marches  for  accepted  victors  only — I  i^lay 

great  marches  for  conquer'd  and  slain  persons. 

^^  Have  you  heard  that  it  was  good  to  gain  the  day  ? 
I  also  say  it  is  good  to  fall — battles  are  lost  in  the  same 
spirit  in  which  they  are  won. 

^^  I  beat  and  pound  for  the  dead  ; 
I  blow  through  my  embouchui-es  my  loudest  and  gayest 
for  them. 

^^  Vivas  to  those  who  have  fail'd ! 

And  to  those  whose  war-vessels  sank  in  the  sea ! 

And  to  those  themselves  who  sank  in  the  sea ! 


48  LEiV\'E3  OF  Gbass. 

And  to  all  generals  that  lost  engagements !  and  all  over- 
come heroes ! 

And  the  numberless  unknown  heroes,  equal  to  the 
greatest  heroes  known. 

19 

^'  This  is  the  meal  equally  set — this  is  the  meat  for 
natural  hunger  ; 

It  is  for  the  wicked  just  the  same  as  the  righteous — I 
make  appointments  with  all ; 

I  will  not  have  a  single  person  shghted  or  left  away  ; 

The  kept-woman,  sponger,  thief,  are  hereby  in\dted  ; 

The  heavy- lipp'd  slave  is  invited — the  venerealee  is  in- 
vited : 

There  shall  be  no  difference  between  them  and  the  rest. 

*^  This  is  the  press  of  a  bashful  hand — this  is  the  float 
and  odor  of  hau' ; 

This  is  the  touch  of  my  lips  to  yovu's — this  is  the  mur- 
mur of  yearning  ; 

This  is  the  far-off  dej^th  and  height  reflecting  my  own 
face  ; 

This  is  the  thoughtful  merge  of  myself,  and  the  outlet 
again. 

^'  Do  you  guess  I  have  some  intricate  ^mrpose  ? 
Well,  I  have — for  the  Fourth-month  showers  have,  and 
the  mica  on  the  side  of  a  rock  has. 

^^  Do  you  take  it  I  would  astonish? 

Does  the  daylight  astonish?    Does  the  early  redstart, 

twittering  through  the  woods? 
Do  I  astonish  more  than  they? 

*'  This  hour  I  tell  things  in  confidence  ; 

I  might  not  tell  everbody,  but  I  will  tell  you. 

20 

'■  "Who  goes  there  ?  hankering,  gross,  mystical,  nude ; 
How  is  it  I  extract  strength  from  the  beef  I  eat  ? 


Y\^ALT  Whitijan.  49 

^^  What  is  a  man,  anyhow?  What  am  I?  What  are  yon ? 

^^  All  I  mark  as  my  ov.n,  you  shah  offset  it  vrifch  yoiir  own; 
Else  it  were  time  lost  Hstening  to  me. 

"  I  do  not  snivel  that  snivel  the  world  over. 

That  months  are  vacnums,  and  the  ground  hut  wallowr 

and  filth ; . 
That  hfe  is  a  suck  and  a  sell,  and  nothing  remains  at 

the  end  but  threadbare  crape,  and  tears. 

°°  Whimpering   and   truckling  fold  with  powders   for 
invalids — conformity  goes  to  the  fourth-remov'd ; 
I  wear  my  hat  as  I  j^lease,  indoors  or  out. 

^'  WTiy  should  I  pray  ?  Why  should  I  venerate  and  be 
ceremonious  ? 

®^  Having  pried  through  the  strata,  analyzed  to  a  hair, 

counsell'd  with  dioctors,  and  calculated  close, 
I  find  no  sweeter  fat  than  sticks  to  my  own  bones. 

"''  In  all  people  I  see  myself — none  more,  and  not  one  a 

barley-corn  less ; 
And  the  good  or  bad  I  say  of  myself,  I  say  of  them. 

'""  And  I  know  I  am  solid  and  sound ; 

To  me  the  converging  objects  of  the  universe  perpetu- 
ally flow ; 

All  are  written  to  me,  and  I  must  get  what  the  writing 
means. 

'°'  I  know  I  am  deathless  ; 

I  know  this  orbit  of  mine  cannot  be  swept  by  the  car- 
penter's compass ; 

I  know  I  shall  not  pass  like  a  child's  carlacue  cut  v^ith 
a  burnt  stick  at  night. 

'"'^  I  know  I  am  august ; 
3 


50  Leaves  of  Geas.3. 

I  do   not  trouble  my  spiiit  to  vindicate  itself  or  be 

understood ; 
I  see  tliat  the  elementary  laws  never  apologize  ; 
(I  reckon  I  behave  no  prouder  than  the  level  I  plant 

my  house  by,  after  all.) 

'"^  I  exist  as  I  am — that  is  enough ; 

If  no  other  in  the  world  be  aware,  I  sit  content ; 

And  if  each  and  all  be  aware,  I  sit  content. 

'°^  One  world  is  aware,  and  by  far  the  largest  to  me, 

and  that  is  myself ; 
And  whether  I   come   to   my  own  to-day,   or  in  ten 

thousand  or  ten  million  years, 
I  can  cheerfully  take  it  now,  or  with  equal  cheerfulness 

I  can  wait. 

i«5  jyjy  foothold  is  tenon'd  and  mortis'd  in  granite  ; 
I  laugh  at  what  you  call  dissolution  ; 
And  I  know  the  amx)htude  of  time. 

21 

'■'*  I  am  the  poet  of  the  Body  ; 
And  I  am  the  poet  of  the  Soul. 

'"  The  pleasures  of  heaven  are  with  me,  and  the  pains 

of  hell  are  vdth  me  ; 
The  first  I  gTaft  and  increase  upon  myself — the  latter  I 

translate  into  a  new  tongue. 

'*^  I  am  the  poet  of  the  woman  the  same  as  the  man  ; 
And  I  say  it  is  as  great  to  be  a  v,'oman  as  to  be  a  man ; 
And  I  say  there  is  nothing  greater  than  the  mother  of 
men. 

"*  I  chant  the  chant  of  dilation  or  pride  ; 

"SVe  have  had  ducking  and  deprecating  about  enough ; 

I  show  that  size  is  only  development. 

"*  Have  you  outstript  the  rest?     Are  vou  the  Presi- 
dent? 


Wai.t   vTeitvi^:.  51 

It  is  a  trifle — ihex  ^dU  more  than  arriTe  tliere,  eveij 
one,  and  stiH  pass  on. 

•    I  am  he  that  "walks  "with  the  tender  and  growing 

night; 
I  can  to  the  earth  and  sea,  half-held  by  the  night. 

'  -  Press  close,  hare-bosom'd  night  I    Press  dose,  mag- 
netic, nonrishiag  night  I 
yi^-'-it  of  south  winds  I  night  of  the  large  few  stars  I 
Sdll-  no  Jding  night !  mad,  nated,  sammer  night. 

Sinile..  O  Yoltrptnons,  cool-breath'd  earth ! 
Earth  of  the  slnmbering  and  hquid  trees ; 
Earth  of  departed   sunset !    earth  of  the  motmtains, 

misty-topt  I 
Earth  of  the  vitreotis  pour  of  thi  full  nooTi.  just  tinged 

with  blue ! 
Earth  of  shine  and  dart,  mottling  the  tide  of  the  river  I 
Earth  of  the  limpid  gray  of  clouds,  brighter  and  clearer 

for  my  sate ! 
Far-swooping    elbovr'd    earth  I    rich,    apple-blossom'd 

earth: 
Smib,  for  your  lover  com.es ! 

'  Frpdigal,  you  have  given  me  love  I   Therefore  I  to 
you  give  love ! 

0  uzispeatable,  passaonate  love ! 

22 

■  Tou  sea  I   I  resign  myself  to  you  also — I  guess  what 

you  mean ; 

1  behold  from  the  beach  your  crooted  inviting  fingers ; 
I  believe  you  refuse  to  go  bact  -without  feeling  of  me  ; 
lYe  must  have  a  turn  together — I  undres — ^hurry  me 

out  of  sight  of  the  land  : 
Cnshion  me  soft,  roct  me  in  billowy  drowse  ; 
Dash  me  with  amorous  wet — 1  can  repay  you. 

■  Sea  of  stretch'd  CTOund-swells  I 


52  Leaves  of  Grass. 

Sea  breathing  broad  and  convulsive  breaths ! 

Sea  of  the  brine  of  hfe  !  sea  of  unshovell'd  yet  always- 
ready  graves ! 

Howler  and  scooper  of  storms  !  capricious  and  dainty 
sea  ! 

I  am  integral  with  you — I  too  am  of  one  phase,  and  of 
all  phases. 

117  Partaker  of  influx  and  efflux  I — extoller  of  hate  and 

conciliation ; 
Extoller  of  amies,  and  those  that  sleep  in  each  others' 

arms. 

"^  I  am  he  attesting  sympathy  ; 

(Shall  I  make  my  list  of  things  in  the  house,  and  skip 
the  house  that  supports  them  ?) 

"'  I  am  not  the  poet  of  goodness  only — I  do  not  decline 
to  be  the  poet  of  wickedness  also. 

^■"  "Washes  and  razors  for  foofoos — for  me  freckles  and 
a  bristhng  beard. 

'■'  "What  blurt  ia  this  about  virtue  and  about  vice  ? 
Evil  propels  me,  and  reform  of  evil  propels  me — I  stand 

indifferent ; 
My  gait  is  no  fault-finder's  or  rejecter's  gait  ; 
I  moisten  the  roots  of  all  that  has  grown. 

'^'^  Did  you  fear  some  scrofula  out  of  the  unflagging 

pregnancy  ? 
Did  you  guess  the  celestial  laws  are  yet  to  be  work'd 

over  and  rectified  ? 

^'-^  I  find  one  side  a  balance,  and  the  antipodal  side  a 

balance  ; 
Soft  doctrine  as  steady  help  as  stable  doctrine  ; 
Thoughts  and  deeds  of  the  present,  our  rouse  and  eai-ly 

start. 


W/VLT  Whitman.  53 

'-*  This  miiiute  that  comes  to  me  over  the  past  decil- 

lions, 
There  is  no  better  than  it  and  now. 

'-^  What  behaved  well  in  the  past,  or  behaves  well  to- 
day, is  not  such  a  wonder  ; 

The  wonder  is,  always  and  always,  how  there  can  be  a 
mean  man  or  an  infidel. 

23 

'-^  Endless  unfolding  oi  words  of  ages  ! 

And  mine  a  word  of  the  modern — the  word  En-Masse. 

'■'  A  word  of  the  faith  that  never  balks  ; 
Here   or   hi^nceforward,   it   is  all   the  same  to  me — I 
accept  Time,  absolutely. 

'■^  It  alone  is  without  flaw — it  rounds  and  completes 

all; 
That  mystic,  bafSing  wonder  I  love,  alone  completes 

aU. 

'-'  I  accept  reahty,  and  dare  not  question  it  ; 
Materialism  first  and  last  imbuing, 

'^^  Hurrah  for  positive  science !  long  live  exact  demon- 
stration ! 

Fetch  stonecrop,  mixt  with  cedar  and  branches  of 
lilac  ; 

This  is  the  lexicographer — this  the  chemist — this  made 
a  gTammar  of  the  old  cartouches  ; 

These  mariners  put  the  ship  through  dangerous  un- 
hnown  seas  ; 

This  is  the  geologist — this  works  with  the  scalpel — and 
this  is  a  mathematician. 

'^'  Gentlemen  !  to  you  the  first  honors  always  : 

Your  facts  are  Tiseful  and  real — and  yet  they  are  not 

my  dwelling  ; 
(I  but  enter  by  them  to  an  area  of  ray  dwelling.) 


54  Leaves  of  Grass. 

'^-  Less  the  reminders  of  properties  told,  my  words  ; 
And  more  the  reminders,  they,  of  life  untold,  and  of 

freedom  and  extrication, 
And  make  short  account  of  neuters  and  geldings,  and 

favor  men  and  women  fully  equipt, 
And  beat  the  gong  of  revolt,  and  stop  with  fugitives, 

and  them  that  plot  and  conspire. 

24 

'"^  "Walt  "Whitman  am  I,  a  Kosmos,  of  mighty  Manhat- 
tan the  son. 

Turbulent,  ileshy  and  sensual,  eating,  drinking  and 
breeding  ; 

No  sentimentalist — no  stander  above  men  and  women, 
or  aj)ait  from  them  ; 

No  more  modest  than  immodest. 

"'  Unscrew  the  locks  fi'om  the  doors! 

Unscrew  the  doors  themselves  from  their  jambs ! 

135  "\\r|iQgYei^.  degrades  another  degrades  me  ; 

And  whatever  is  done  or  said  returns  at  last  to  me. 

136  Through   me   the   afflatus   surging    and    surging — 

through  me  the  ctu'rent  and  index. 

'^^  I  speak  the  pass-word  primeval — I  give  the  sign  of 

democracy ; 
By  God !  I  will  accept  nothing  which  all  cannot  have 

their  counterpart  of  on  the  same  terms. 

138  Through  me  many  long  dumb  voices  ; 
Voices  of  the  intei'minable  generations  of  slaves ; 
Voices  of  prostitutes,  and  of  deform'd  persons ; 
Voices  of  the   diseas'd  and  despairing,  and  of  thieves 

and  dwarfs ; 
Voices  of  cycles  of  preparation  and  accretion, 
And   of   the   threads   that  connect   the  stars — and  of 

wombs,  and  of  the  father-stuff, 
And  of  the  rights  of  them  the  others  are  down  uj)on ; 


Walt  Whitman.  55 

Of  tlie  trivial,  flat,  foolish,  despised, 

Fog  in  the  air,  beetles  rolling  balls  of  dung. 

139  Throiigli  me  forbidden  voices  ; 

Voices  of  sexes  and  lusts — voices  veil'd,  and  I  remove 

the  veil ; 
Voices  indecent,  by  me  clarified  and  transfigur'd. 

"°  I  do  not  press  my  fingers  across  my  mouth  ; 

I  keep  as   delicate   around  the  bowels  as  around  the 

head  and  heart ; 
Copulation  is  no  more  rank  to  me  than  death  is. 

'^'  I  beheve  in  the  flesh  and  the  appetites  ; 
Seeing,   hearing,   feeling,  are  miracles,  and  each  part 
and  tag  of  me  is  a  miracle. 

"-  Divine  am  I  inside  and  out,  and  I  make  holy  what- 
ever I  touch  or  am  touch'd  fi'om  ; 

The  scent  of  these  arm-pits,  aroma  finer  than  prayer  ; 

This  head  more  than  churches,  bibles,  and  all  the 
creeds. 

'■"  If  I  v/orship  one  thing  more  than  another,  it  shall 
be  the  spread  of  my  own  body,  or  any  part  of  it. 

'"  Translucent  mould  of  me,  it  shall  be  you ! 
Shaded  ledges  and  rests,  it  shall  be  jou ! 
Eirm  masculine  colter,  it  shall  be  you. 

""  Whatever  goes  to  the  tilth  of  me,  it  shall  be  you ! 
You  my  rich  blood !  Your  milky  stream,  pale  strippings 
of  my  life. 

"•^  Breast  that  presses  against  other  breasts,  it  shall  be 

you ! 
My  brain,  it  shall  be  your  occult  convolutions. 

'■"  Root  of  wash'd  sweet  flag!  timorous  pond-snipe! 
nest  of  guarded  duplicate  eggs !  it  shall  be  you ! 


56  Lkwes  of  Geass. 

Mix'd  tussled  hay  of  bead,  bsard,  brawn,  it  shall  be 

you! 
Trickhug  sap  of  maple !  fibre  of  manly  wheat !  it  shall 

be  you ! 

'"^  Sun  so  generous,  it  shall  be  you ! 

Vapors  lighting  and  shading  my  face,  it  shall  be  you ! 

You  sweaty  brooks  and  dews,  it  shall  be  you ! 

Winds  who30  soft-tickhng   genitals  rub  against  me,  it 

shall  be  you ! 
Broad,  muscular  fields !    branches  of  live  oak !   loving 

lounger  in  my  winding  paths  !  it  shall  be  you ! 
Hands  I  have  taken — face  I  have  kiss'd — mortal  I  have 

ever  touch'd !  it  shall  be  you. 

''"  I  dote  on  myself — there  is  that  lot  of  me,  and  all  so 

luscious  ; 
Each  moment,  and  whatever  happens,  thrills  me  with 

joy- 

'^"01  am  wonderful! 

I  cannot   tell   how  my  ankles   bend,  nor  whence   the 

cause  of  my  faintest  wish  ; 
Nor  the  cause  of  the  fi'iendsbip  I  emit,  nor  the  cause 

of  the  friendship  I  take  again. 

'^'  That  I  walk  up  my  stoop !  I  pause  to  consider  if  it 

really  be  ; 
A  morning-glory  at  my  window  satisfies  me  more  than 

the  metaphysics  of  books. 

'"  To  behold  the  day-break  I 

The  little   light   fades   the   immense   and   diaphanous 

shadows ; 
The  air  tastes  good  to  my  palate. 

'""  Hefts   of   the  moving  world,   at  innocent  gambols, 

silently  rising,  freshly  exuding, 
Scoo'inj  oblicfuely  high  and  low.  * 


Walt   \Vhit:,ian.  57 

'"  Something  I   cannot   sec  puts  upward   libidinous 

prongs ; 
Seas  of  bi'iglit  juice  suffuse  heaven. 

'^-   The  earth  by  the  sky  staid  with — the  daily  close  of 

their  junction ; 
The  heav'd  challenge  from  the  east  that  moment  over 

my  head ; 
The   mocking  taunt,  See  then  whether  you  shall  be 

master ! 

25 

'^^  Dazzling  and  tremendous,  how  quick  the  sun-rise 

would  kill  me, 
If  I  could  not  now  and  always  send  sun-rise  out  of 

me. 

'"  We  also  ascend,  dazzling  and   ti'emendous  as  the 

sun  ; 
"We  found  our  own,  O  my  Soul,  in  the  calm  and  cool 

of  the  daybreak. 

155  jyjy  voice  goes  after  what  my  eyes  cannot  reach  ; 
With  the  twirl  of  my  tongue  I  encompass  worlds,  and 
volumes  of  w^orlds. 

'"'  Speech  is  the  twin  of  my  vision — it  is  unequal  to 

measm'e  itself  ; 
It  j)rovokes  me  forever  ; 
It   says   sarcastically,    Walt,   you   contain  enough — loJnj 

don't  you  let  it  out,  then  ? 

'^"  Corns  now,  I  will  not  be  tantalized — you  conceive 
too  much  of  articulation. 

"'  Do  you  not  know,  O  speech,  how  the  buds  beneath 

you  are  folded  ? 
Waiting  in  gloom,  protected  by  frost ; 
The  dirt  receding  before  my  prophetical  screams  ; 
1  underlying  causes,  to  balance  them  at  last ; 


58  Leaves  of  Gkass. 

My  knowledge  my  live  parts — it  keeping  tally  with  the 

meaning  of  things, 
Happixkss — which,  whoever  hears  me,  let  him  or  her  set 

out  in  search  of  this  clay. 

^"  My  final  merit  I  refuse  you — I  refuse  putting  from 
me  what  I  really  am  ; 

Encompass  w^orkls,  but  never  try  to  encompass  me  ; 

I  crowd  youi'  sleekest  and  best  by  simply  looking  to- 
ward you. 

163  Writing  and  talk  do  not  prove  me ; 

I  carry  the  plenum  of  proof,  and  everything  else,  in  my 
face ; 

With  the  hush  of  my  lips  I  wholly  confound  the  skep- 
tic. 

26 

'^*  I  think  I  will  do  nothing  now  but  listen, 
To  accrue  what  I  hear  into  myself — to  let  sounds  con- 
tribute toward  me. 

'^*  I  hear  bravuras  of  birds,  bustle  of  growing  wheat, 

gossip   of  flames,   clack   of  sticks   cooking  my 

meals ; 
I  hear   the   sound   I   love,  the  sound  of   the  human 

voice ; 
I  hear  all  sounds  running  together,  combined,  fused  or 

following ; 
Sounds  of  the  city,  and  sounds  out  of  the  city — sounds 

of  the  day  and  night ; 
Talkative  young  ones  to  those  that  like  them — the  loud 

laugh  of  work-people  at  their  meals  ; 
The  angry  base  of  disjointed  friendship — the  faint  tones 

of  the  sick  ; 
The  judge  with  hands  tight  to  the  desk,  his  pallid  lips 

pronouncing  a  death-sentence  ; 
The   heave'e'yo   of  stevedores   unlading  ships   by  the 

wharves — the  refrain  of  the  anchor-lifters  ; 


Walt  Whitman.  59 

The  ring  of  alarm-bells — the  cry  of  fire — the  whirr  of 
swift-streaking-  engines  and  hose-carts,  with  pre- 
monitory tinkles,  and  color'd  lights  ; 

The  steam-whistle — the  solid  roll  of  the  train  of  ap- 
proaching cars  ; 

The  slow-march  play'd  at  the  head  of  the  association, 
marching  two  and  two  ; 

(They  go  to  guard  some  corpse — the  flag-tops  are 
draped  with  black  muslin.) 

"'^  I  hear  the  violoncello,  ('tis  the  young  man's  heart's 

complaint ;) 
I  hear  the  key'd  cornet — it  ghdes  quickly  in  through 

my  ears  ; 
It    shakes  mad-sweet    pangs   through  my   belly  and 

breast. 


'"  I  hear  the  chorus — it  is  a  grand  opera 
Ah,  this  indeed  is  music !     This  suits  me. 


"^^  A  tenor  large  and  fresh  as  the  creation  fills  me  ; 
The  orbic  flex  of  his  mouth  is  pouring  and  filling  me 
full. 


'^^  I  hear  the  train'd  soprano — (what  work,  with  hers, 
is  this  ?) 

The  orchestra  whirls  me  wider  than  Uranus  flies  ; 

It  wrenches  such  ardors  from  me,  I  did  not  know  I 
possess'd  them  ; 

It  sails  me — I  dab  with  bare  feet — they  are  Hck'd  'by 
the  indolent  waves  ; 

I  am  exposed,  cut  by  bitter  and  angry  hail — I  lose  my 
breath, 

Steep 'd  amid  honey 'd  morphine,  my  windpipe  throt- 
tled in  fakes  of  death  ; 

At  length  let  up  again  to  feel  the  puzzle  of  puzzles. 

And  that  we  call  Being. 


GO  LiiAVEs  OF  Geass. 


'■"'  To  be,  in  any  form  —-what  is  that  ? 

TRound  and  round  we  go,  ail  of  us,  and  ever  come  back 
thither  ;) 

If  nothing  lay  more  develop'd,  the  quahaug  in  its  cal- 
lous shell  were  enough. 

'"'  Mine  is  no  callous  shell ; 

I  have  instant  conductors  all  over  me,  whether  I  pass 

or  stop  ; 
_They  seiza  every  object  and  lead  it  harmlessly  through- 
me. 

''-  I  merely  stir,  press,  feel  with   my  fingers,  and  am 

liappy  ; 
To  touch  my  person  to  some  one  ckc's  is  about  as  m.uch 

as  I  can  stand. 

28 

""  Is  this  then  a  touch  ?    quivering  me  to  a  new  iden- 
tity, 
Flames  and  ether  making  a  rxish  for  my  veins, 
Treacherous  tip  of  me  reaching  and  crowding  to  help 

them, 
My  flesh  and  blood  plajdng  out  lightning  to  strike  Vi-hafc 

is  hardly  different  from  myself  ; 
On  all  sides  prurient  provokers  stiffening  my  limbs, 
Straining  the  udder  of  my  heart  for  its  withheld  drip. 
Behaving  licentious  toward  me,  taking  no  denial, 
Depriving  mo  of  my  best,  as  for  a  j)urpose, 
UiJbuttouing  my  clothes,  holding  me  by  the  bare  waist. 
Deluding  my  confusion  Vt'ith  the  calm  of  the  sunlight 

and  pasture-fields. 
Immodestly  sliding  the  fellow-senses  away, 
They  bribed  to  swap  off'  with  touch,  and  go  and  graze 

at  the  edges  of  me  ; 
No  consideration,  no  regard  for  m.y  draining  strength 

or  my  anger  ; 
Fetching  the  rest  of  the  herd  around  to  enjoy  them  a 

while, 


Walt  Whitman.  61 

Then  all  Tiniting-  to   stand  on  a  beadland  and  worry 


'"■*  The  sentries  desert  every  other  part  of  me ; 
They  have  left  me  helpless  to  a  red  marauder  ; 
They  all  come   to  the  headland^  to  witness  and  assist 
against  me. 

'•^  I  am  given  up  by  traitors  ; 

I  talk  wildly  —I  have  lost  my  wits — ^I  and  nobody  else 
am  the  greatest  traitor  ; 

I  went  myself  lirst  to  the  headland— my  own  hands  car- 
ried me  there. 

'"^  You  villain  touch !    what  are  you  doing  ?    My  breath 

is  tight  in  its  throat ; 
Unclench  your  floodgates !  you  are  too  much  for  me. 

29 

'"'  Blind,  loving,   wresthng   touch!    sheath'd,   hooded, 

sharp-toothM  touch ! 
Did  it  make  you  ache  so,  leaving  me  ? 

^'^  Parting,  track'd  by  aiTiving — perpetual  payment  of 
perpetual  loan  ; 

Rich,  showering  rain,  and  recompense  richer  after- 
ward. 

"'  Sprouts   take   and   accumulate — stand  by  the  curb 

prolific  and  vital : 
Landscapes,  projected,  mascuhne,  full-sized  and  golden. 

30 

'«"  AU  truths  wait  in  all  things  ; 

They  neither  hasten  thuir  own  delivery,  nor  resist  it  ; 

They  do  not  need  the  obstetric  forceps  of  the  surgeon  ; 

The  insignificant  is  as  big  to  me  as  any ; 

(What  is  less  or  more  than  a  touch?) 


62  Leaves  of  Grass. 

'^'  Logic  and  sermons  never  convince  ; 

The  damp  of  the  niglit  drives  deeper  into  my  soul. 

'^-  Only  wliat  proves  itself  to  every  man  and  woman  is 

so  ; 
Only  what  nobody  denies  is  so. 

'^^  A  minute  and  a  drop  of  me  settle  my  brain ; 

I  believe    the   soggy   clods   shall    become   lovers   and 

lamps, 
And  a  compend  of  compends  is  the  meat  of  a  man  or 

woman, 
And  a  summit  and  flower  there  is  the  feeling  they  have 

for  each  other, 
And  they  are  to  branch  boundlessly  out  of  that  lesson 

until  it  becomes  omnilic, 
And  until  every  one  shall  dehght  us,  and  we  them. 

31 

'"  I  believe  a  leaf  of  grass  is  no  less  than  the  journey- 
work  of  the  stars, 
And  the  pismire  is  equally  perfect,  and  a  grain  of  sand, 

and  the  egg  of  the  wren. 
And  the  tree-toad  is  a  chef-d'ceu'STe  for  the  highest. 
And  the  running  blackberry  would  adorn  the  parlors  of 

heaven, 
And  the  narrowest  hinge  in  my  hand  puts  to  scorn  all 

machinery, 
And  the  cow  crunching  with  depress'd  head  surpasses 

any  statue, 
And  a  mouse  is  miracle  enough  to  stagger  sextillions  of 

infidels, 
And  I  could  come  every  afternoon  of  my  life  to  look  at 

the  farmer's  girl  boiling  her  iron  tea-kettle  and 

baking  short-cake. 

'^°  I  find  I  incorporate  gneiss,  coal,  long-threaded  moss, 

fruits,  grains,  esculent  roots. 
And  am  stucco'd  v/ith  quadrupeds  and  birds  all  over, 


Walt  Whitman.  63 

And  have  distanced  ■what  is  behind  me  for  good  rea- 
sons, 
And  call  anything  close  again,  when  I  desire  it. 

'''*  In' vain  the  speeding  or  sh5-ness  ; 

In  vain  the  plutonic  rocks  send  their  old  heat  against 

my  approach  ; 
In  vain  the  mastodon  retreats  beneath  its  own  powder'd 

bones ;     ' 
In  vain  objects  stand  leagues  off,  and  assume  manifold 

shapes  ; 
In  vain  the   ocean  settling  in  hollows,  and  the  great 

monsters  lying  low  ; 
In  vain  the  buzzard  houses  herself  v>'ith  ihe  sky  ; 
In  vain  the  sualie  slides  through  the  creejDers  and  logs  ; 
In  vain  the  elk  takes  to  the  inner  passes  of  the  woods  ; 
In  vain  the  razor-bill'd  auk  sails  far  north  to  Labrador  ; 
I  follow  quickly,  I  ascend  to  the  nest  in  the  fissui'e  of 

the  chff. 


'^'  I  think  I  could  turn  and  live  with  animals,  they  are 

so  placid  and  self-contain'd  ; 
I  stand  and  look  at  them  long  and  long. 

!8s  ijij^ey  (^Q  j2ot  sweat  and  whine  abotit  their  condition  ; 
They  do  not  lie  aw^ake  in  the  dark  and  weej)  for  theii- 

sins  ; 
They  do  not  make  me  sick  discussing  their  duty  to  God  ; 
Not  one  is  dissatisfied — not  one  is  demented  with  the 

mania  of  owning  things  ; 
Not  one  kneels  to  another,  nor  to  his  kind  that  lived 

thousands  of  years  ago  ; 
Not  one  is  respectable  or  industrious  over  the  whole 

earth. 

'^'  So  they  show  their  relations  to  me,  and  I  accept 

them  ; 
They  bring  me   tokens  of  myself — they  evince   them 

plainly  in  their  possession. 


64  Leaves  of  Grass. 

""  I  wonder  wbere  they  get  those  tokens  : 

Did  I  pass  that  way  huge  times  ago,  and  neghgently 

drop  them  ? 
Myself  moving  forward  then  and  now  and  forever, 
Gathering  and  showing  more  always  and  with  velo'eity, 
Infinite  and  omnigenous,  and  the  like  of  these  among 

them  ; 
Not  too  exclusive  toward  the  reachers  of  my  remem- 
brancers ; 
Picking  out  hero  one  that  I  love,  and  now  go  with  him 
on  brotherly  terms. 

'"'  A  gigantic  beauty  of  a  stallion,  fresh  and  responsive 

to  my  caresses, 
Head  high  in  the  forehead,  wide  between  the  ears, 
Limbs  glossy  and  sujoi^le,  tail  dusting  the  ground. 
Eyes  full  of  sjoarkling  wickedness — ears  finely  cut,  flex- 
ibly moving. 

'"^  His  nostrils  dilate,  as  my  heels  embrace  him  ; 
His  well-built  limbs  tremble  with  pleasure,  as  we  race 
around  and  return. 

''"  I  but  use  you  a  moment,  then  I  resign  you,  stallion  ; 
Why  do  I  need  your  paces,  when  I  myself  out-gallop 

them  ? 
Even,  as  I  stand  or  sit,  passing  faster  than  you. 

33 

'^^  O  swift  v/iud !  O  space  and  time !  now  I  see  it  is 

true,  what  I  guessed  at ; 
"What  I  guess'd  when  I  loaf 'd  on  the  grass  ; 
"What  I  guess'd  while  I  lay  alone  in  my  bed. 
And  again  as  I  walk'd  the  beach  under  the  pahng  stars 

of  the  morning. 

"^  My  ties  and  ballasts  leave  me — I  travel — I  sail — my 

elbows  rest  in  the  sea-gaps  ; 
I  skirt  the  sierras — my  palms  cover  continents  ; 
I  am  afoot  with  my  vision. 


Walt  Whitman.  Go 

"'  By  tlie  cit^^'s  quadrangnlar  houses — in  log  liiits — 

campiag  with  lumbermen  ; 
Along  the  ruts  of  the  turnpike — along  the  dry  gulch 

and  rivulet  bed  ; 
Weeding  my  onion-patch,  or  hoeing  rows  of  carrots  and 

parsnips — crossing  savannas — trailing  in  forests  ; 
Prospecting — gold-digghig — girdling  the  trees  of  a  new 

purchase  ; ' 
Scorch'd  anhle-deep  by  the  hot  sand — hauling  my  boat 

down  the  shallow  river  ; 
Where  the  panther  walks  to  and  fro  on  a  limb  overhead 

— where  the  buck  turns  furiously  at  the  hunter  ; 
"Where  the  rattlesnake  suns  his  flabby  length  on  a  rock 

— where  the  otter  is  feeding  on  fish  ; 
Y/here  the  alligator  in  his  tough  pimples  sleeps  by  the 

bayou  ; 
Wliere  the  black  bear  is  searching  for  roots  or  honey — 

where  the  beaver  pats  the  mud  v/ith  his  paddle- 
shaped  tail ; 
Over  the  growing  sugar — over  the  yellovz-flower'd  cotton 

plant — over  the  rice  in  its  low  moist  field  ; 
Over  the  sharp-peak'd  farm  house,  with  its  scallop'd 

scum  and  slender  f_.hoots  from  the  gutters  ; 
Over  the  western  persimmon — over  the  long-leaVd  corn 

— over  the  delicate  blue-flower  flax  ; 
Over  the  white  and  brown  buckwheat,  a  hummer  and 

buzzer  there  with  the  rest ; 
Over  the  dusky  green  of  the  rye  as  it  ripples  and  shades 

in  the  breeze  ; 
Scaling  mountains,  pulling  myself  cautiously  up,  hold- 
ing on  by  low  scragged  limbs  ; 
Yv'alking  the  path  v/orn  in  the  grass,  and  beat  through 

the  leaves  of  the  brush  ; 
Yv^here  the  quail  is  whistling  betwixt  the  woods  and  tlio 

wheat-lot ; 
Where  the  bat  flies  in  the  Seventh-month  eve — where 

the  great  gold-bug  drops  through  the  dark  ; 
Where  flails  keep  time  on  the  barn  floor ; 
Where  the  brook  puts  oat  of  the  roots  of  the  old  tree 

and  flov/3  to  the  mcadov/ ; 


6G  Leaves  of  Grass. 

YvTiere  cattle  stand  and  shake  away  flies  with  the  tremu- 
lous shuddering  of  their  hides  ; 

Where  the  cheese-cloth  hangs  in  the  kitchen — where 
andirons  straddle  the  hearth-slab — where  cob- 
webs fall  in  festoons  fi'om  the  rafters ; 

Where  trip-hammers  crash — where  the  press  is  whirling 
its  cylinders ; 

Wherever  the  human  heart  beats  with  terrible  throes 
under  its  ribs ; 

Where  the  pear-shaped  balloon  is  floating  aloft,  (float- 
ing in  it  myself,  and  looking  composedly  down  ;) 

Where  the  life-car  is  drawn  on  the  slip-noose — where 
the  heat  hatches  pale-green  eggs  in  the  dented 
sand ; 

Where  the  she-whale  swims  with  her  calf,  and  never 
forsakes  it ; 

TVTiere  the  steam-ship  trails  hind-ways  its  long  pennant 
of  smoke  ; 

Where  the  fin  of  the  shark  cuts  like  a  black  chip  out  of 
the  water ; 

WTiere  the  half-burn'd  brig  is  riding  on  unknown  cur- 
rents, 

Where  shells  grow  to  her  slimy  deck — where  the  dead 
are  corrupting  below  ; 

Where  the  dense-starr'd  flag  is  borne  at  the  head  of 
the  regiments ; 

Apxjroaching  Manhattan,  up  by  the  long-stretching 
island ; 

Under  Niagara,  the  cataract  falling  like  a  veil  over  my 
countenance ; 

Upon  a  door-step — upon  the  horse-block  of  hard  wood 
outside  ; 

Upon  the  race-course,  or  enjoying  picnics  or  jigs,  or  a 
good  game  of  base-ball ; 

At  he-festivals,  with  blackguard  gibes,  ironical  license, 
bull-dances,  drinking,  laughter ; 

At  the  cider-mill,  tasting  the  sweets  of  the  brown 
mash,  sucking  the  juice  through  a  straw  ; 

At  apple-peelings,  wanting  kisses  for  all  the  red  fruit  I 
find; 


Walt  "Whitman.  67 

At    musters,    beach-parties,    friendly   bees,    liuskings, 

house-raisings : 
Where  the  mocking-bircT  sounds  his  dehcious  gurgles, 

cackles,  screams,  weeps  ; 
Where  the  hay-rick  stands  in  the  barn-yard — where  the 

dry-stalks   are  scattered — where  the  brood-cow 

waits  in  the  hovel ; 
Where  the  bull  advances  to  do  his  masculine  work — 

where  the  stud  to  the  mare — where  the  cock  is 

treading  the  hen  ; 
TVTiere  the  heifers  browse — where  geese  nip  their  food 

v/ith  short  jerks  ; 
Whei-c  sun-down  shadows  lengthen  over  the  limitless 

and  lonesome  prairie  ; 
Where  herds  of  buffalo  make  a  crawling  si)read  of  the 

square  miles  far  and  near  ; 
Where  the  humming-bu'd  shimmers — ^where  the  neck  of 

the  long-lived  swan  is  ciu'ving  and  winding ; 
YvTiere   the  laughing-gull  scoots  by  the  shore,  where 

she  laughs  her  near-human  laugh  ; 
Where  bee-hives  range  on  a  gi'ay  bench  in  the  garden, 

half  hid  by  the  high  weeds  ; 
Vv'here  band-neck'd  partridges  roost  in  a  ring  on  the 

ground  with  their  heads  out ; 
Where  burial   coaches   enter  the    arch'd    gates   of    a 

cemetery ; 
Yv^'here  winter  wolves  bark  amid  wastes  of  snow  and 

icicled  trees ; 
Where  the  yellow-crown'd  heron  comes  to  the  edge  of 

the  marsh  at  night  and  feeds  upon  small  crabs  ; 
Where  the  splash  of  swimmers  and  divers  cools  the 

warm  noon  ; 
Where  the  katy-did  works  her  chromatic  reed  on  the 

Avalnut-tree  over  the  well ; 
Through  patches  of  citrons  and  cucumbers  with  silver- 
wired  leaves ; 
Through  the  salt-lick  or  orange  glade,  or  under  conical 

firs ; 
Through  the  gymnasium — through  the  curtain'd  saloon 

— through  the  office  or  public  hall ; 


63  Leaves  of  Grass. 

Pleas'd  with  the  native,  and  pleas'd  witli  the  foreign — 
pleas' d  with  the  new  and  old ; 

Pleas'd  with  women,  the  homely  as  well  as  the  hand- 
some ; 

Pleas'd  with  the  quaheress  as  she  j)uts  off  her  bonnet 
and  talks  melodiously ; 

Pleas'd  with  the  tune  of  the  chou-  of  the  whitc-wash'd 
church  ; 

Pleas'd  with  the  earnest  words  of  the  sweating  Metho- 
dist preacher,  or  any  preachei* — impress'd  seri- 
ously at  the  camp-meeting : 

Looliing  in  at  the  shop-windows  of  Broadway  the 
whole  forenoon — Hatting  the  flesh  of  my  nose 
on  the  thick  plate-glass  ; 

Wandering  the  same  afternoon  with  my  face  turn'd  up 
to  the  clouds, 

My  right  and  left  arms  round  the  sides  of  two  friends, 
and  I  in  the  middle  : 

Coming  home  with  the  silent  and  dark-cheeh'd  bush- 
boy — (behind  me  he  rides  at  the  drape  of  the 
day ;) 

Far  from  the  settlements,  studying  the  print  of  animals' 
feet,  or  the  moccasin  print ; 

By  the  cot  in  the  hospital,  reaching  lemonade  to  a 
feverish  patient ; 

Nigh  the  cofiin'd  corpse  vrhen  all  is  still,  examining  with 
a  candle  : 

Voyaging  to  every  port,  to  dicker  and  adventure ; 

Hurrying  with  the  modern  crowd,  as  eager  and  fickle 
as  any ; 

Hot  toward  one  I  hate,  ready  in  iiij  madness  to  knife 
him  ; 

Solitary  at  midnight  in  my  back  yard,  my  thoughts  gone 
from  me  a  long  while  ; 

"Walking  the  old  hills  of  Judea,  with  the  beautiful  gentle 
God  by  my  side  ; 

Speeding  tlu-otigh  space — speeding  through  heaven  and 
the  stars  ; 

Speeding  amid  the  seven  satellites,  and  the  broad  riug, 
and  the  diameter  of  eighty  thousand  miles  ; 


Walt  Whitman.  69 

Speeding  with,  tail'd  meteors — throwing  lire-balls  like 

the  rest ; 
Carrying  the  crescent  child  that  carries  its  own  full 

mother  in  its  belly  ; 
Storming,  enjoying,  planning,  loving,  cautioning. 
Backing  and  lilhng,  appearing  and  disappearing  ; 
I  tread  day  and  night  such  roads. 

'"  I  visit  the  orchards  of  spheres,   and  look   at  the 

product : 
And  look  at  quintillions  ripen'd,  and  look  at  quintillions 

green. 

"^  I  fly  the  flight  of  the  fluid  and  swallowing  sotd  ; 
My  course  runs  below  the  soundings  of  plummets. 

"^  I  help  myself  to  material  and  immaterial ; 
No  gxiai'd  can  shut  me  off,  nor  law  prevent  me. 

"'^°  I  anchor  my  ship  for  a  little  while  only  ; 
My  messengers  continually  cruise  away,  or  bring  their 
returns  to  me. 

-"'  I  go  hunting  polar  furs  and  the  seal — leaping  chasms 
with  a  pike-pointed  staff — cHnging  to  topples  of 
brittle  and  blue. 

^"'^  I  ascend  to  the  foretruck  ; 
I  take  my  place  late  at  night  in  the  crow's-nest ; 
We  sail  the  arctic  sea — it  is  plenty  light  enough  ; 
Through  the  clear  atmosphere  I  stretch  around  on  the 

wonderful  beauty ; 
The  enormous  masses  of  ice  pass  me,  and  I  pass  them — 

the  scenery  is  plain  in  all  directions  ; 
The  white-topt  mountains  show  in  the  distance — I  fling 

out  my  fancies  toward  them  ; 
(We  are  approaching  some  great  battle-field  in  which 

we  are  soon  to  be  engaged  ; 
We  pass  the  colossal  outposts  of  the  encampment — we 

pass  with  still  feet  and  caution  ; 


70  Leaves  of  Gbass. 

Or  we  are  entering  by  the  suburbs  some  vast  and  ruin'd 

city  ; 
The  blocks  and  fallen  architecture  more  than  all  the 

hving  cities  of  the  globe.) 

""'  I  am   a   free   companion — I    bivouac  by  invading 
watchfires. 

"•"  I  turn  the  bridegi'oom  out  of  bed,  and  stay  with  the 

bride  myseK ; 
I  tighten  her  aU  night  to  my  thighs  and  lips. 

-"'  My  voice  is  the  wife's  voice,  the  screech  by  the  rail 

of  the  stairs  ; 
They  fetch  my  man's  body  up,  di'ipping  and  drown'd. 

^"^  I  understand  the  large  hearts  of  heroes, 

The  courage  of  present  times  and  all  times  ; 

How  the  skipper  saw  the  crowded  and  rudderless  wreck 

of  the  steam-ship,  and  Death  chasing  it  up  and 

down  the  storm  ; 
How  he  knuckled  tight,  and  gave  not  back  one  inch, 

and  was  faithful  of  days  and  faithful  of  nights. 
And  chalk'd  in  large  letters,  on  a  board,  Be  cf  good 

cheer,  ive  ivill  not  desert  you  : 
How  he  follow'd  with  them,  and  tack'd  with  them — and 

would  not  give  it  up  ; 
How  he  saved  the  drifting  company  at  last : 
How  the  lank  loose-gown'd  women  look'd  when  boated 

from  the  side  of  their  prepared  graves  ; 
How  the  silent  old-faced  infants,  and  the  lifted  sick,  and 

the  sharp-lipp'd  unshaved  men  : 
All  this  I  swallow — ^it  tastes  good — I  hke  it  well — it 

becomes  mine  ; 
I  am  the  man — I  suffer'd — I  was  there. 

■'"  The  disdain  and  calmness  of  olden  martyrs  ; 

The  mother,  condemn'd  for  a  witch,  burnt  with  dry 

wood,  her  childi'en  gazing  on  ; 
The  hounded  slave  that  flags  in  the  race,  leans  by  the 

fence,  blowing,  cover'd  with  sweat ; 


"Walt  "Whitman,  71 

Tlie  twinges  that  sting  like  needles  bis  legs  and  neck — • 

the  murderous  buckshot  and  the  bullets  ; 
All  these  I  feel,  or  am. 

-°^  I  am  the  hounded  slave,  I  wince  at  the  bite  of  the 

dogs. 
Hell  and  despair  are  upon  me,  crack  and  again  crack 

the  marksmen  ; 
I  clutch  the  rails  of  the  fence,  my  gore  diibs,  thinn'd 

with  the  ooze  of  mj  skin  ; 
I  fall  on  the  weeds  and  stones  ; 
The  riders  spur  their  unwilling  horses,  haul  close, 
Taunt  my  dizzy  ears,  and  beat  me  violently  over  the 

head  with  whip-stocks. 

^"^  Agonies  are  one  of  my  changes  of  garments  ; 

I  do  not  ask  the  wounded  person  how  he  feels — I  my- 
self become  the  wounded  person  ; 

My  hurts  turn  livid  u^Don  me  as  I  lean  on  a  cane  and 
observe. 

^'"  I  am  the  mash'd  £reman  with  breast-bone  broken  ; 

Tumbling  walls  buiied  me  in  their  debris  ; 

Heat  and  smoke  I  insjoired — I  heard  the  yelling  shouts 

of  my  comrades  ; 
I  heard  the  distant  click  of  their  picks  and  shovels  ; 
They  have  clear'd  the  beams  away — they  tenderly  lift 

me  forth. 

^'^  I  lie  in  the  night  air  in  mj^  red  shii-t — the  pervading 

hush  is  for  my  sake  ; 
Painless  after  all  I  lie,  exhausted  but  not  so  unhappy  ; 
"VVhite   and  beautiful   are  the  faces    around  me — the 

heads  are  bared  of  their  fire-caps  ; 
The    kneeUng    crowd    fades    with    the    light   of    the 

torches. 

-'-  Distant  and  dead  resuscitate  ; 

They  show  as  the  dial  or  move  as  the  hands  of  me — 
I  am  the  clock  myself. 


72  Leaves  of  Geass. 

"^  I  am  an  old  artillerist — I  tell  of  my  fort's  bombard- 

meut ; 
I  am  there  a^ain. 

"''  Again  the  long  roll  of  the  drummers  ; 

Again  the  attacking  camion,  mortars  ; 

Again,  to  my  hstening  ears,  the  cannon  responsive. 

*'^  I  take  part — I  see  and  hear  the  v/hole  ; 

The  cries,  curses,  roar — the  plaudits  for  •well-aim'd 
shots  ; 

The  ambulanza  slowly  passiug,  trailing  its  red  drip  ; 

Workmen  searching  after  damages,  making  indispen- 
sable repairs ; 

The  fall  of  grenades  through  the  rent  roof — the  fan- 
shaped  explosion ; 

The  whizz  of  limbs,  heads,  stone,  wood,  iron,  high  in 
the  air. 

*'°  Again  gurgles  the  mouth  of  my  dying  general — he 

furiously  waves  with  his  hand  ; 
He  gasps  through  the  clot,  Hind  not  me— mind — the 

entrenchments. 

34 

-"  Now  I  tell  what  I  knew  in  Texas  in  my  early  youth  ; 
(I  tell  not  the  fall  of  Alamo, 
Not  one  escaped  to  tell  the  fall  of  Alamo, 
The  hundred  and  fifty  are  dumb  yet  at  Aiamo  ;) 
'Tis  the  tale  of  the  murder  in  cold  blood  of  four  hun- 
dred and  twelve  young  men. 

"®  Retreating,  they  had  form'd  in  a  hoUow  square,  with 

their  baggage  for  breastworks  ; 
Nine  hundred  hves  out  of  the  siu'rounding  enemy's, 

nine  times  their  number,  was  the  price  they  took 

in  advance ; 
Their  colonel  was  wounded   and    their    ammunition 

gone  ; 
They  treated  for  an  honorable   capitiilation,   receiv'd 

writing  and  seal,  gave  np  their  arms,  and  march'd 

back  prisoners  of  war. 


Walt  Whit?jan.  73 

-''  They  were  the  glory  of  the  race  of  rangers  ; 

Matchless  vrith  horse,  rifle,  song,  snj)per,  coixrtship, 

Large,  turbulent,  generous,  handsome,  proud,  and  affec- 
tionate, 

Bearded,  sunburnt,  drest  in  the  free  costume  of  hun- 
ters. 

Not  a  single  one  over  thirty  years  of  age. 

^•°  The  second  First-day  morning  they  were  brought 
out  in  squads,  and  massacred — it  was  beautiful 
early  summer  ; 

The  work  commenced  about  five  o'clock,  and  was  over 
by  eight. 

-■'  None  obey'd  the  command  to  kneel ; 

Some  made  a  mad  and  helpless  rush — some  stood  stark 
and  straight ; 

A  few  fell  at  once,  shot  in  the  temple  or  heart — the  liv- 
ing and  dead  lay  together  ; 

The  maim'd  and  mangled  dug  in  the  dirt — the  new- 
comers saw  them  there  ; 

Some,  half-kill'd,  attempted  to  crawl  av/ay  ; 

These  were  despatch'd  with  bayonets,  or  Ibatter'd  with 
the  blunts  of  muskets  ; 

A  youth  not  seventeen  years  old  seiz'd  his  assassin  till 
two  more  came  to  release  him  ; 

The  three  were  all  torn,  and  cover'd  with  the  boy's 
blood. 

--'^  At  eleven  o'clock  began  the  burning  of  the  bodies  : 
That  is  the  tale  of  the  murder  of  the  four  hundred  and 
twelve  young  men. 

35 

■"  Would  you  bear  of  an  old-fashion'd  sea-fight  ? 
Would  you  learn  who  won  by  the  light  of  the  moon  and 

stars  ? 
List  to  the  story  as  my  grandmother's  father,  the  sailor, 

told  it  to  me. 


7-1  Lk-wks  of  Grass. 

^■■'  Our  foe  was  no  skulk  in  his  ship,  I  tell  you,  (said  he;) 
His  was   the   surly   English   pluck — and   there   is   no 

tougher  or  truer,  and  never  was,  and  never  v.ill 

be  ; 
Along  the  lower'd  eve  he  came,  horribly  raking  us. 

-■°  We  closed  with  him — the  yards  entangled — the  can- 
non touch'd  ;    ' 
My  captain  lash'd  fast  with  his  own  hands. 

"'^  We  had  receiv'd  some  eighteen  pound  shots  under 

the  water  ; 
On  our  lov>^er-gun-deck  two  large  pieces  had  burst  at 

the  first  fire,  killing  all  around,  and  blowing  up 

overhead. 

'2''  Fighting  at  sun-down,  fighting  at  dark  ; 

Ten  o'clock  at  night,  the  full  rnoon  well  up,  our  leaks 
on  the  gain,  and  five  feet  of  water  reported  ; 

The  master-at-arms  loosing  the  prisoners  confined  iu 
the  after-hold,  to  give  them  a  chance  for  them- 
selves. 

K8  ijij^Q  transit  to  and  from  the  magazine  is  now  stopt 

by  the  sentinels. 
They  see  so  many  strange  faces,  they  do  not  know  whom 

to  trust. 

'-"  Our  frigate  takes  fire  ; 

The  other  asks  if  we  demand  quarter  ? 

If  our  colors  are  struck,  and  the  fighting  is  done  ? 

^"^  Now  I  laugh  content,  for  I  hear  the  voice  of  my  little 

captain. 
We  have  not  struck,  he  composedly  cries,  ice  have  just 

begun  ow  part  of  the  fighting. 

*"''  Only  three  guns  are  in  use  ; 

One  is  directed  by  the  captain  himself  against  the  ene- 
my's main-mast ; 

Tvvo,  weU  served  with  grape  and  canister,  silence  his 
musketry  and  clear  his  decks. 


Walt  Whitman.  "75 

^"-  The  tops  alone  second  the  lire  of  this  little  battery, 

especially  the  main-top  ; 
They  hold  out  bravely  during  the  whole  of  the  action. 

•^^  Not  a  moment's  cease  ; 

The  lealcs  gain  fast  on  the  pumps — the  fire  eats  toward 
the  powder-magazine. 

■'*  One  of  the  pumps  has  been  shot  away — it  is  gene- 
rally thought  we  are  sinking. 

'"''  Serene  stands  the  little  captain  ; 
He  is  not  hurried — his  voice  is  neither  high  nor  low  ; 
His  eyes  give  more  light  to  us  than  our  battle-lan- 
terns. 

2M  Toward  twelve  at  night,  there  in  the  beams  of  the 
moon,  they  surrender  to  us. 


""''  Stretch'd  and  still  lies  the  midnight  ; 
Two  gTeat  hulls  motionless  on  the  breast  of  the  dark- 
ness ; 
Ova-  vessel  riddled  and  slowly  sinking — preparations  to 

pass  to  the  one  we  have  conquer'd ; 
The  captain  on  the  cj^uarter-deck  coldly  giving  his  orders 

through  a  countenaQce  white  as  a  sheet ; 
Near  by,  the  corpse  of  the  child  that  serv'd  in   the 

cabin  ; 
The  dead  face  of  an  old  salt  with  long  white  hair  and 

carefully  curl'd  whiskers  ; 
The  flames,  spite  of  all  that  can  be  done,  flickering 

aloft  and  below ; 
The  husky  voices  of  the  two  or  three  officers  j^et  fit  for 

duty  ; 
Formless  stacks  of  bodies,  and  bodies  by  themselves — 

dabs  of  flesh  upon  the  masts  and  spars, 
Cut  of  cordage,  dangle  of  rigging,  slight  shock  of  the 

soothe  of  waves. 


76  LexVVEs  of  Gr.Ass. 

Black   and  impassive   guns,    litter   of   po^d:r-parcels, 

stroug  scent. 
Delicate  sniffs  of  sea-breeze,  smells  of  sedgy  grass  and 

fields   by  the   shore,    death-messages    given    in 

charge  to  survivors, 
The  hiss  of  the  surgeon's  knife,  the  gnawing  teeth  of 

his  saw, 
"Wheeze,    cluck,    swash   of    falling    blood,    short    wild 

scream,  and  long,  dull,  tapering  groan  ; 
These  so — these  irretrievable. 

37 

scs  Q  Qi^ipjgi;  J  This  is  mastering  me  ! 

In  at  the  conquer'd  doors  they  crowd.     I  am  possess'd. 

-^^  I  embody  all  presences  outlaw'd  or  suffering  ; 
See  myself  in  prison  shaped  like  another  man. 
And  feel  the  dull  unintcrmitted  pain. 

24.J  Yox  me  the  keepers  ot  convicts  shoulder  their  car- 
bines and  keep  vv^atch  ; 
It  is  I  let  out  in  the  morning,  and  baiT'd  at  night. 

"'  Not  a  mutineer  walks  haudcuff'd  to  jail,  but  I  am 
handcuff'd  to  him  and  walk  by  his  side  ; 

(I  am  less  the  jolly  one  there,  and  more  the  silent  one, 
vrith  sweat  on  my  tvv^itching  lips.) 

"-  Not  a  youngster  is  taken  for  larceny,  but  I  go  up 
too,  and  am  tried  and  sentenced. 

"'  Not  a  cholera  patient  lies  at  the  last  gasp,  but  I  also 

lie  at  the  last  gasp  ; 
My  face  is  ash-color'd — my  sinews  gnarl — away  from 

me  people  retreat. 

^"  Askers  embody  themselves  in  me,  and  I  am  embo- 
died in  them  ; 
I  project  my  hat,  sit  shame-facod,  and  beg. 


Walt  Whitman.  77 

38 

■*^  Enough  !   enougli !   enongli ! 

Somehow  I  have  been  stann'd.     Stand  back  ! 

Give  me  a  little  time  beyond  my  cuff'd  head,  slumbers, 

dreams,  gaping  ; 
I  discover  myself  on  the  verge  of  a  usual  m.istake. 

'^^  That  I  could  forget  the  mockers  and  insults ! 

That  I  could  forget  the  triclcling  tears,  and  the  blows 
of  the  bludgeons  and  hammers  ! 

That  I  could  look  with  a  separate  look  on  my  ov\ai  cru- 
cifixion and  bloody  crov,ning. 

-"''  I  remember  now  ; 

I  resume  the  overstaid  fraction  ; 

The  grave  of  rock  multiplies  what  has  been  confided  to 

it,  or  to  any  graves  ; 
Corpses  rise,  gashes  heal,  fastenings  roll  from  mc. 

-^  I  troop  forth  replenish'd  with  supreme  power,  one 
of  an  average  unending  procession  ; 

Inland  and  sea-coast  we  go,  and  we  pass  all  boundary 
lines  ; 

Our  swift  ordinances  on  their  way  over  the  whole 
earth  ; 

The  blossoms  we  wear  in  our  hats  the  grov/th  of  thou- 
sands of  years. 

"'"  Eleves,  I  salute  you !  come  forward ! 

Continue  your  annotations,  continue  your  questionings. 

39 

C50  rjj^Q  friendly  and  flowing  savage.  Who  is  he  ? 
Is  he  waiting  for  civilization,  or  past  it,  and  master- 
ing it  P 

^^'  Is  he  some  south-westerner,  rais'd  out-doors  ?  Is  he 
Kanadian  ? 


78  LEiWES    OF    GExVSS. 

Is  lie  from  the  Mississippi  country  ?  Iowa,  Oregon, 
California  ?  the  mountains  ?  prairie-life,  bush- 
life  ?  or  from  the  sea  ? 

252  "VVherever  he  goes,  men  and  women  accept  and  de- 
sire him  ; 

They  desire  he  should  like  them,  touch  them,  speak  to 
then:!,  stay  with  them. 

"^"  Behavior  lawless  as  snow-flakes,  words  simple  as 
grass,  uncomb'd  head,  laughter,  and  naivete. 

Slow-stepping  feet,  common  features,  common  modes 
and  emanations ; 

They  descend  in  new  forms  from  the  tips  of  his  fingers  ; 

They  arc  wafted  with  the  odor  of  his  body  or  breath — 
th'-y  fly  out  of  the  glance  of  his  eyes. 

40 

251  Flaunt  of  the  sunshine,  I  need  not  yoiir  bask, — lie 

over ! 
You  light  sur laces  only — I  force  surfaces  and  depths 

also. 

^^°  Earth  !  you  seem  to  look  for  something  at  my  hands  ; 
Say,  old  Top-knot!  vrhat  do  you  want? 

*^^  Man  or  vvoman!  I  might  tell  how  I  like  you,  but 

cannot ; 
And  might  tell  v/hal  it  is  in  me,  and  what  it  is  in  you, 

but  cannot ; 
And  might  tell  that  pining  I  have — that  pulse  of  my 

nights  and  days. 

'"  Behold !  I  do  not  give  lectures,  or  a  httlo  charity  ; 
"When  I  give,  I  give  myself. 

558  You  there,  impotent,  loose  in  the  knees ! 

Open  your  scarf 'd  chops  till  I  blow  grit  within  you  ; 

Spread  your  palms,  and  lift  the  flaps  of  your  pockets  ; 


"Walt  Whitman.  79 

I  am  not  to  be  denied — I  compel — I  liave  stores  plenty 

and  to  spare  ; 
And  anything  I  have  I  bestow. 

*"  I  do  not  ask  wlio  you  are — that  is  not  so  important 

to  me  ; 
You  can  do  nothing,  and  be  nothing,  but  what  I  will 

infold  you. 

'^^  To  cotton-field  drudge  or  cleaner  of  privies  I  lean  ; 

On  his  right  cheek  I  put  the  family  kiss, 

And  in  my  soul  I  swear,  I  never  will  deny  him. 

'"   On  women   fit   for   conception  I  start  bigger  and 

nimbler  babes  ; 
(This  day  I  am  jetting  the  stuff  of  far  more  arrogant 

republics.) 

^^-  To  any  one  dying — thither  I  speed,  and  twist  the 

knob  of  the  door  ; 
Turn  the  bed-clothes  toward  the  foot  of  the  bed  ; 
Let  the  physician  and  the  priest  go  home. 

^''^  I  seize  the  descending  man,  and  raise  him  with  re- 
sistless will. 

-*"  O  desp.iiver,  here  is  my  neck  ; 

By  God!   you  shall  not  go  down!    Hang  your  whole 
v/eight  upon  me. 

-"■  I  dilate  you  Vv^iih  tremendous  breath — I  buoy  you 

up  ; 
Every  room  of  the  hoiise  do  i  fill  with  an  arm'd  force, 
Lovers  of  me,  bafilers  of  graves. 

•"'Sleep!  I  and  they  keep  guard  all  night ; 

Not  doubt — not  decease  shall  dare  to  lay  finger  upon 

you ; 
I  have  embraced  you,  and  henceforth  possess  you  to 

myself ; 


80  Leaves  of  Grass. 

And  when  yoti  rise  in  the  morning  you  v/ill  find  what  I 
tell  you  is  so. 

41 

^"  I  iim  he  bringing  help  for  the  sick  a.s  they  pant  on 

their  backs  ; 
And  for  strong  upright  men  I  l:'ring  3'et  more  needed 

help. 

^°^  I  heard  what  was  said  of  the  universe  ; 
tieard  it  and  heard  it  of  several  thousand  years  : 
It  is  middling  well  as  far  as  it  goes, — But  is  that  all  ? 

^•'^  Magnifying  and  applying  corns  I, 
Outbidding  at  the  start  the  old  cautious  hucksters, 
Taking  myself  the  exact  ditnensions  of  Jehovah, 
Lithographing  Kronos,  Zsu3  his  son,  and  Hercides  his 

grandson  ; 
Buying  drafts  of  Osiris,  Isis,  Belus,  Brahma,  Buddha, 
In  my  portfolio  placing  Manito  loose,  Allah  0:1  a  leaf, 

the  crucifix  engraved, 
With  Odin,  and  the  hideous-faced  Mexitli,  and  every 

idol  and  image  ; 
Taking  them  all  for  vv^hat  they  are  worth,  and  not  a  cent 

more  ; 
Admitting  they  were  alive  and  did  the  work  of  their 

days ; 
(They  bore  mites,  as  for  unficilg'd  birds,  v,dio  have  novr 

to  rise  and  ily  and  sing  for  themselves  ;) 
Aceei^ting  the  rough  deific  sketches  to  fill  out  better  in 

myself — bestowing  them  freely  on  each  man  and 

woman  I  see  ; 
Discovering  as  much,  or  more,  in  a  framer  framing  a 

house ; 
Putting  higher  claims  for  him  there  v/ith  his  roll'd-up 

sleeves,  driving  the  mallet  and  chisel ; 
Not  objecting  to  special  revelations — considering  a  curl 

of  smoke,  or  a  hair  on  the  back  of  my  hand,  just 

as  curiouo  as  any  revelation  ; 


Walt  Whitman.  81 

Lads  filiold  of  fire-engines  and  hook-and-la,dder  ropes 
DO  less  to  me  than  the  Gods  of  the  antique  wars  ; 

Minding  their  voices  peal  through  the  crash  of  destruc- 
tion, 

Their  brawny  limbs  passing  safe  over  eharr'd  laths — 
their  white  foreheads  whole  and  unhurt  out  of 
tlie  flames  : 

By  the  mechanic's  wife  with  her  babe  at  her  nipple  in- 
terceding for  every  person  born  ; 

Three  scythes  at  harvest  whizzing  in  a  row  from  three 
lusty  angels  v^'ith  shirts  bagg'd  out  at  their  waists  ; 

The  snag-tooth'd  hostler  with  red  hair  redeeming  sius 
past  and  to  come, 

Selling  all  he  possesses,  traveling  on  foot  to  fee  lawyers 
for  his  brother,  and  sit  by  him  while  he  is  tried 
for  forgery  ; 

"V^Tiat  was  strewn  in  the  amplest  strewing  the  square 
rod  about  me,  and  not  filling  the  square  rod 
then  ; 

The  biill  and  the  bug  never  worship'd  half  enough  ; 

Dung  and  dirt  more  admirable  than  was  dream'd  ; 

The  supernatural  of  no  account — myself  waiting  my 
time  to  be  one  of  the  Supremes  ; 

The  day  getting  ready  for  me  when  I  shall  do  as  much 
good  as  the  best,  and  be  as  prodigious  : 

By  my  life-lumps !  becoming  pJready  a  creator  ; 

Putting  myself  here  and  nov/  to  the  ambush'd  womb  of 
the  shadows. 

42 

^''^  A  call  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd  ; 

My  own  voice,  orotund,  sweeping,  and  final. 

"'  Come  my  children  ; 

Come  my  boys  and  g'h'ls,  my  women,  household,  and 

intimates  ; 
Now  the  performer  launches  his  nerve — he  has  pass'd 

his  prelude  on  the  reeds  within. 

"■  Easily  written,  loose-finger'd  chords !  I  feel  the  thrum 
of  vour  climax  and  close. 


82  Leaves  of  Gsaso. 

^"  My  head  slues  round  on  my  neck  ; 
Music  rolls,  but  not  from  the  organ  ; 
Folks  are  around  mc,  but  they  are  no  household  of 
mine. 


"^  Ever  the  hard,  unsnnk  ground  ; 

Ever  the  eaters   and   drinkers — ever  the  upTrard  and 

downward  sun — ever  the  air  and  the  ceaseless 

tides  ; 
Ever  myself  and  my  neighbors,  refreshing,  wicked,  real ; 
Ever  the   old    inexplicable   query — ever   that    thorn'd 

thumb — that  breath  of  itches  and  thirsts  ; 
Ever  the  vexer's  liool  !  hoot  !  till  we  find  where  the  sly 

one  hides,  and  bring  him  forth  ; 
Ever  love— ever  the  sobbing  liquid  of  life  ; 
Ever  the  bandage  under  the  chin — ever  the  tressels  of 

death. 

-'^  Here  and  there,  v.'ith  dimes  on  the  eyes,  walking  ; 
To   feed  the   greed  of  the  beUy,  the  brains  liberally 

spooning  ; 
Tickets  buying,  taking,  selling,  but  in  to  the  feast  never 

once  going  ; 
Many  sweating,  ploughing,  thrashing,  and  then  the  chaff 

for  payment  receiving  ; 
A  few  idly  owning,   and   they  the  wheat   continually 

claimiug. 

"*'  This  is  the  city,  and  I  am  one  of  the  citizens  ; 
Whatever  interests  the  rest  interests  me — politics,  wars, 

markets,  newspapers,  schools. 
Benevolent     societies,     improvements,    banks,    tariffs, 

steamships,  factories,  stocks,  stores,  real  estate, 

and  personal  estate. 

■"  The  little  plentiful  mannikins,  skipping  around  in 

collars  and  tail'd  coats, 
I   am   aware  who  they  are — (they  are  positively  not 

Vv^orms  or  fleas.) 


Walt  Whit?iIan.  83 

^'^  I  acknowledge  the  duplicates  of  myself — the  weakest 
and  shallowest  is  deathless  with  me  ; 

What  I  do  and  say,  the  same  waits  for  them  ; 

Every  thought  that  flounders  in  me,  the  same  flounders 
in  them. 

'-'^  I  know  perfectly  well  my  own  egotism  ; 

I  know  my  omnivorous  lines,  and  will  not  write  any 

less  ; 
And   would   fetch   you,  whoever  you   are,  flush   with 

myself. 

•®^  No  words  of  routine  are  mine. 

But  abruj)tly  to  question,  to  leap  beyond,  yet  nearer 

bring  : 
This  printed  and  bound  book — but  the  printer,  and  the 

printing-office  boy? 
The  well-taken  photographs — but  yoiu'  wife  or  friend 

close  and  solid  in  yoiu*  arms? 
The  black  ship,  mail'd  with  iron,  her  mighty  guns  in 

her  turrets — but  the  pluck  of  the  captain  and 

engineers  ? 
In  the  houses,  the  dishes  and  fare  and  furniture — but 

the  host  and  hostess,  and  the  look  out  of  their 

eyes? 
The  sky  up  there — yet  hei'e,  or  next  door,  or  across  the 

way? 
The  saints  and  sages  in  history — but  you  yourself? 
Sermons,  creeds,  theology — but  the  fathomless  human 

brain. 
And  what  is  reason  ?  and  what  is  love  ?  and  what  is  life  ? 

43. 

•^'  I  do  not  despise  you,  priests  ; 

My  faith  is  the  greatest  of  faiths,  and  the  least  of  faiths. 

Enclosing  v,'orship  ancient  and  modern,  and  all  between 

ancient  and  modern. 
Believing  I  shall  come  again  upon  the  earth  after  five 

thousand  years, 
Waiting  responses  from  oracles,  honoring  the   Gods, 

saluting  the  sun, 


84:  Lea\t;3  of  Gkass. 

Making  a  fetish  of  tlie  first  rock  or  stiiinp,  powwowing' 
with  sticks  in  the  circle  of  obis, 

Helping  the  lama  or  brahmin  as  ho  trims  the  lamps  of 
the  idols, 

Dancing  yet  through  the  streets  in  a  phaUic  proces- 
sion— rapt  and  austere  in  the  woods,  a  gj-'m-ac- 
sophist, 

Drinking  mead  from  the  skull-cup — to  Shastas  and 
Vedas  admirant — minding  the  Koran, 

Walking  the  teokallis,  spotted  with  gore  from  the  stone 
and  knife,  beating  the  serpent-skin  di'vun, 

Accepting  the  Gospels — accepting  him  that  was  cruci- 
fied, knowing  assnredly  that  he  is  divine, 

To  the  mass  kneeling,  or  the  puritan's  prayer  rising,  or 
sitting  patiently  in  a  pew. 

Ranting  and  frothing  in  my  insane  crisis,  or  waiiiug- 
dead-like  till  my  spirit  arouses  me, 

Looking  forth  on  pavement  and  land,  or  outside  cf 
pavement  and  land, 

Belonging  to  the  winders  of  the  circuit  of  circuits. 

*^^  One  of  that  centripetal  and  centrifugal  gang,  I  turn. 
and  talk,  Kke  a  man  leaving  charges  before  a 
journey. 

^'^^  Dovxii-hearted  doubters,  dull  and  excluded, 
Frivolous,  sullen,  moping,  angry,  affected,  dishcartcu'd^ 

atheistical  ;. 
I  know  eveiy  one  of  you — I  know  the  sea  cf  torment, 

doubt,  despair  and  unbelief. 

■^  How  the  flukes  splash ! 

How  they  contort,  rapid  as  lightning,  with  spasms,  and 
spouts  of  blood  1 

-^'  Be  at  peace,  bloody  fiiukes  of  doubters  and  sullen 

mopers ; 
I  take  my  place  among  you  as  much  as  among  any  ; 
The  past  is  the  push  of  you,  me,  all,  precisely  the  same, 
And  what  is  yet  untried  and  afterward  is  for  you,  me, 

all,  precis^jcly  the  same. 


Walt  Yv'hitman,  85 

"**"  I  do  not  know  what  is  untried  and  afterward  ; 
But  I  know  it  will  in  its  turn  prove  sufficient,  and  ean- 
]iot  fail. 

-®'  Eacli  who  passes  is  consider' d — each  v/lio  stops  is 
consider'd — not  a  single  one  can  it  fail. 

'^^  It  cannot  fail-  the   young   man  who  died  and  v^as 

buried, 
Nor  the  youug  woman  who  died  and  Vv-as  put  by  his 

side. 
Nor  the  little  child  that  peep'd  in  at  the  door,  and  then 

drew  back,  and  was  never  seen  again, 
Nor  the  old  man  v/ho  has  lived  without  purpose,  and 

faels  it  with  bitterness  worse  than  gall, 
Nor  him  in  the  poor  house,  tubercled  by  lum  and  tho 

bad  disorder. 
Nor  the  numberless  sbughter'd  and  v/reck'd — nor  tho 

brutish  koboo  call'cl  the  ordure  of  humanity, 
Nor  the  sacs  merely  floating  with  open  mouths  for  food 

to  slip  in, 
Nor  anything  in  the  eiirth,  or  down  in  the  oldest  graves 

of  the  earth. 
Nor  anything  in  the  mjTiads  of  spheres — nor  one  of 

the  myriads  of  myriads  that  inhabit  them, 
Nor  the  present — nor  the  least  wisp  that  is  knovm. 

44 
'^^  It  is  time  to  explain  myself — Let  us  stand  up. 

29->  "What  is  known  I  strip  away  ; 

I  launch  all  men  and  women  forward  with  mo  into  the 

Unknown. 

"^^  The  clock  indicates  the  moment — but  what  does  eter- 
nity indicate? 

^"^  We  have  thus  far  exhausted  trillions  of  winters  and 

summers  ; 
There  are  trillions  ahead,  aiKl  trillions  ahead  of  them. 


86  Leaves  of  Gkass. 

-^^  Births  have  brought  us  richness  and  variety, 
And  other  births  will  bring  us  richness  and  variety. 

-'"'  I  do  not  call  one  greater  and  one  smaller  ; 

That  which  fills  its  period  and  place  is  equal  to  any. 

■"^  Were  mankind  murderous  or  jealous  upon  you,  my 

brother,  my  sister? 
I  am  sorry  for  j'ou — they  are  not  miu'derons  or  jealous 

upon  me ; 
All  has  been  gentle  with  mc — I  keep  no  account  with 

lamentation  ; 
(What  have  I  to  do  with  lamentation  ?) 

•^°  I  am  an  acme  of  things  accomplish'd,  and  I  an  en- 
closer  of  things  to  be. 

2"  My  feet  strike  an  apex  of  the  apices  of  the  stairs  ; 
On  every  step  bunches  of  ages,  and  larger  bunches  t)e- 

tween  the  steps ; 
All  below  duly  travel'd,  and  still  I  mount  and  mount. 

-°^  Rise  after  rise  bow  the  phantoms  behind  me  ; 

Afar  dov/n  I  see  the  huge  tirst  Nothing — I  know  I  was 
even  there  ; 

I  vfaitcd  unseen  and  always,  and  slept  through  the  leth- 
argic mist, 

And  took  my  time,  and  took  no  hurt  from  tlie  fetid 
carbon. 

.-"  Long  I  was  hugg'd  close — long  and  long. 

^-^  Immense  have  been  the  preparations  for  me. 
Faithful  and  friendly  the  arms  that  have  help'd  me. 

^'"  Cj^cles  ferried  my  cradle,  rowing   and  rowing  Uke 

cheerful  boatmen  ; 
For  room  to  me  stars  kept  aside  in  their  own  rings  ; 
They  sent  influences  to  look  after  what  was  to  hold  me. 


Walt  Whit^ian.  87 

^°-  Before  I  v-'as  boru  out  of  my  motlier,  generations 
guided  nic  ; 

My  embryo  Las  never  been  torpid — nothing  could  over- 
lay it. 

S03  jjiq^.  jj.  ^ViQ  nebula  cohered  to  an  orb, 
The  long  slow  strata  piled  to  rest  it  on, 
Vast  vegetables  gave  it  sustenance, 

Monstrous  sauroids  transj^orted  it  in  their  mouths,  and 
deposited  it  with  care. 

^"  All  forces  have  been  steadily  employ'd  to  complete 

and  delight  me  ; 
Now  on  this  spot  I  stand  with  my  robust  Soul. 

45 

""^  O  span  of  youth  !  Ever-push'd  elasticity ! 
O  manhood,  balanced,  florid,  and  full. 

205  T^jy  lovers  suffocate  me  ! 

Crowding  my  lips,  thick  in  the  pores  of  my  skin, 

Jostling  me  through  streets  and  public  halls — coming 

naked  to  me  at  night. 
Crying  by  day  Ahoy !  from  the  rocks  of   the  river — 

swinging  and  chii'ping  over  my  head, 
Calling  my  name  fi"om  flower-beds,  vines,  tangled  under- 
brush, 
Lighting  on  ever_y  moment  of  my  life. 
Bussing  my  body  with  soft  balsamic  busses, 
Noiselessly  passing  handfuls  out  of  their  hearts,  and 
giving  them  to  be  mine. 

^°'  Old  age  superbly  rising !  0  welcome,  ineffable  grace 
of  dying  days  ! 

3t>s  Every  condition  promulges  not  only  itself — it  pro- 

niulges  what  grows  after  and  out  of  itself. 
And  the  dark  hush,  promulges  as  much  as  any. 

^°^  I  oiDen  my  scuttle  at  night  and  see  the  far-sprinkled 
systems, 


88  Leaves  of  Gsass. 

AnJ  all  I  sac,  multiplied  as  higli  as  I  can  cipher,  edge 
but  the  rim  of  the  farther  systems. 

""•  "Wider  and  wider  they  spread,  expanding,  always  ex- 
panding, 
Outward  and  outw.ird,  and  forever  outward. 

^"  My  sun   has   his    sun,   and   round  him   obediently 

v^rheels, 
He  joins  with  his  partners  a  grouiD  of  superior  circuit, 
And  greater  sets  follow,  making  specks  of  the  greatest 

inside  them. 

^''-  There  is  no  stoppage,  and  never  can  be  stoppage  ; 

If  I,  you,  and  the  worlds,  and  ail  beneath  or  upon  their 
surfaces,  were  this  moment  reduced  back  to'  a 
pallid  float,  it  would  not  avail  in  the  long  run  ; 

"VYe  should  surely  bring  up  again  where  we  now  stand, 

And  as  surely  go  as  much  farther — and  then  farther  and 
farther. 

^'^  A  few  quadrillions  of  eras,  a  few  octillions  of  cubic 
leagues,  do  not  hazard  the  span,  or  make  it  im- 
patient ; 

They  are  but  parts — anything  is  but  a  part. 

^^^  See  ever  so  far,  there  is  limitless  space  outside  of  that ; 
Count  ever  so  much,  there  is  limitless  time  around  that. 

315  -^ij  rendezvous  is  appointed — it  is  certain  ; 

The  Lord  will  be  there,  and  wait  till  I  come,  on  perfect 

terms  ; 
(The  great  Camerado,  the  lover  true  for  vhom  I  pine, 

v/ill  be  there.) 

46 

^'®  I  know  I  have  the  best  of  time  and  space,  and  was 

never  measured,  and  never  will  be  measured. 
^"  I  tramp  a  perpetual  journey — (come  listen  all !) 
My  signs  are  a  rain-proof  coat,  r^ood  shoes,  and  a  staff 
cut  from  the  woods  ; 


Walt  Whitman.  83 

No  friend  of  mine  talie^  his  ease  in  my  cliair  ; 

I  have  no  chair,  no  church,  no  philosophy  ; 

I  lead  no  man  to  a  dinner-table,  libi'aiy,  or  exchange  ; 

But  each  man  and  each  woman  of  you  I  lead  upon  a 

knoll. 
My  left  hand  hooking  you  round  the  waist, 
My  right  hand  pointing  to  landscapes  of  continents, 

and  a  plain  public  road. 

^'^  Not  I — not  any  one  else,  can  travel  that  road  for 

you, 
You  must  travel  it  for  yourself. 

^'^  It  is  not  far — it  is  within  reach  ; 

Perhaps  you  have  been  on  it  since  you  were  born,  and 

did  not  know  ; 
Perhaps  it  is  every  where  on  water  and  on  land. 

• 

^■°  Shoulder  your  duds,  dear  son,  and  I  v/ill  mine,  and 

let  us  hasten  forth, 
Wonderful  cities  and  fi'ee  nations  we  shall   fetch   as 

v/e  go. 

'"*'  If  you  tire,  give  me  both  burdens,  and  rest  the  chuff 

of  your  hand  on  my  hip. 
And  in  due  time  you  shall  repay  the  same  service  to 

me  ; 
For  after  vre  start,  wo  never  lie  by  again. 

^--  This  day  before  dawn  I  ascended  a  hill,  and  look'd  at 

the  crowded  heaven. 
And  I  said  to  my  Sioirit,  When  ice  become  the  enfohlers 

of  those  orbs,  and  the  pleasure  and  knowledge  of 

everything  in  them,  shall  we  be  filVd  and  satisfied 

then  ? 
And  my  Spirit  said.  No,  we  but  level  that  lift,  to  pa^s  and 

continue  beyond. 

^-^  You  are  also  asking  me  questions,  and  I  hear  you  ; 
I  answer  that  I  cannot  answer — you  mu4  find  out  for 
yourself. 


yO  Leaves  of  Grass. 

^■^  Sit  a  while,  dear  son  ; 

Here  are  biscuits  to  eat,  and  here  is  milk  to  drink  ; 

But  as  soon  as  you  sleep,  and  renew  yourself  in  sweet 

clothes,  I  kiss  you  with  a  good-bye  kiss,  and  open 

the  gate  for  your  egress  hence. 

^'^  Long  enough  have  you  dream'd  contemptible  dreams; 
Now  I  wash  the  gum  fi'om  your  eyes  ; 
You  must  habit  yourself  to  the  dazzle  of  the  light,  and 
of  every  moment  of  your  Hfe. 

'^^  Long  have  you  timidly  waded,  holding  a  plank  by 

the  shore  ; 
Now  I  will  you  to  be  a  bold  swimmer, 
To  jump  oii"  in  the  midst  of  the  sea,  rise  again,  nod  to 

me,  shout,  and  laughingly  dash  with  youi*  hau*. 

47 

^-'  I  am  the  teacher  of  athletes  ; 

He  that  by  me   spreads  a  wider  breast  than  my  own, 

proves  the  width  of  my  own  ; 
He  most  honors  my  style  who  learns  under  it  to  destioy 

the  teacher. 

^-^  The  boy  I   love,    the   same   becomes   a    man,   not 

through  derived  jDOwer,  but  in  his  own  right, 
Wicked,  rather  than  virtuous  out  of  conformity  or  fear. 
Fond  of  his  sv/eetheart,  relishing  well  his  steak. 
Unrequited  love,  or  a  slight,  cutting  him  v^'orse  than 

sharp  steel  cuts. 
First-rate  to  ride,  to  fight,  to  hit  the  bull's  eye,  to  sail  a 

skiiF,  to  sing  a  song,  or  play  on  the  banjo, 
Preferring  scars,  and  the  beard,  and  faces  pitted  with 

small-]:>ox,  over  all  latherers, 
And  those  well  tann'd  to  those  that  keep  out  of  the  sun. 

^'■^  I  teach   straying  from  me — yet  who  can  stray  from 

me? 
I  follow  you,  whoever  you  are,  from  the  j)rcserit  hour  ; 
My  words  itch  at  your  ears  till  you  imderstand  them. 


I 


Walt  Whitman.  91 

^^°  I  do  not  say  these  things  for  a  dollar,  or  to  fill  uj) 

the  time  while  I  wait  for  a  boat ; 
It  is  you  talking  just  as  much  as  myself— I  act  as  the 

tongue  of  you  ; 
Tied  in  your  mouth,  in  mine  it  begins  to  be  loosen'd. 

^^'  I  swear  I  will -never  again  mention  love  or  death  in- 
side a  house, 

And  I  swear  I  will  never  translate  myself  at  all,  only  to 
him  or  her  who  privately  stays  with  me  in  the 
open  air. 

^^-  If  you  would  understand  me,  go  to  the  heights  or 
water-shore  ; 

The  nearest  gnat  is  an  explanation,  and  a  drop  or  mo- 
tion of  waves  a  key  ; 

The  maul,  the  oar,  the  hand-saw,  second  my  words. 

^■'^  No  shutter'd  room  or  school  can  commune  with  me, 
But  roughs  and  little  childi'eu  better  than  they. 

^"  The  young  mechanic  is  closest  to  me — he  knows  me 

well ; 
The  woodman,  that  takes  his  axe  and  jug  with  him, 

shall  take  me  vv^ith  him  all  day  ; 
The  farm-boy,  ploughing  in  the  field,  feels  good  at  the 

sound  of  my  voice  ; 
In  vessels  that  sail,  my  words  sail — I  go  with  fishermen 

and  seamen,  and  love  them. 

^■^^  The  soldier  camp'd,  or  upon  the  march,  is  mine  ; 
On  the  night  ere  the  pending  battle,  many  seek  me,  and 

I  do  not  fail  them  ; 
On  the  solemn  night  (it  may  be  their  last,)  those  that 

know  me,  seek  mo. 

3315  ^ly  fr^(,Q  p^^-jjg  ^q  ^|-^q  i^imtcr's  facc,  when  he  lies  down 

alone  in  his  blanket ; 
The  driver,  thinking  of  me,  does  not  mind  the  jolt  of 

his  wagon  ; 


92  Leaves  of  Grass. 

The  young  mother  and  old  mother  comprehend  me  ; 
The  girl  and  the  wife  rest  the  needle  a  moment,  and 

forget  where  they  are  ; 
Thej  and  all  would  resume  what  I  have  told  them. 

48 

""''  I  have  said  that  the  soul  is  not  more  than  the  body, 
And  I  have  said  that  the  body  is  not  more  than  the  soul; 
And  nothing,  not  God,  is  greater  to  one  tlian  one's- 

self  is, 
And  Vv'hoever  walks  a  furlong  without  symi^athy,  walks 

to  his  own  funeral,  di'est  in  his  shroud, 
And  I  or  you,  pocketless  of  a  dime,  may  purchase  the 

pick  of  the  earth, 
And  to  glance  with  an  eye,  or  show  a  baan  in  its  pod, 

confounds  the  learning  of  all  times, 
And  there  is  no  trade  or  employment  but  the  young 

man  follov/ing  it  may  become  a  hero. 
And  there  is  no  object  so  soft  but  it  makes  a  hub  for  the 

Avheei'd  universe, 
And  I  say  to  any  man  or  woman,  Let  your  soul  stand 

cool  and  composed  before  a  million  universes. 

^^  And  I  say  to  mankind,  Be  not  curious  about  God, 
For  I,  who  am  curious  about  each,  am  not  curious  about 

God; 
(No  array  of  terms  can  say  how  much  I  am  at  peace 

about  God,  and  about  death.) 

^^^  I  hear  and  behold  God  in  every  object,  yet  under- 
stand God  not  in  the  least. 

Nor  do  I  understand  v/ho  there  can  be  more  wonderful 
than  myself. 

■"^^  Why  should  I  wish  to  see  God  better  than  this  day  ? 
I  see  something  of  God  each  hour  of  the  twenty-foiu-, 

and  each  moment  then  ; 
In  the  faces  of  men  and  women  I  see  God,  and  in  my 

own  face  in  the  glass  ; 
I  find  letters  from  God  dropt  in  the  street — and  every 

one  is  sign'd  by  God's  name, 


Walt  Whitman.  93 

And  I  leave  tliem  -n-liere  they  are,  for  I  know  that 

wheresoe'er  I  go, 
Others  will  punctually  come  forever  and  ever. 

49 

^"  And  as  to  you  Death,  and  you  bitter  hug  of  mortal- 
ity, it  is  idle  to  try  to  alarm  me. 

^■*'-  To  his  work  without  flinching  the  accoucheur  comes; 
I  see  the  elder-hand,  pressing,  receiving,  supporting  ; 
I  rechne  by  the  sills  of  the  exquisite  flexible  doors. 
And  mark  the  outlet,  and  mark  the  relief  and  escape. 

'^^  And  as  to  you,  Corpse,  I  think  you  arc  good  mamu'e 

— but  that  does  not  offend  me  ; 
I  smell  the  v/hite  roses  sweet-scented  and  growing, 
I  reach  to  the  leafy  lips — I  reach  to  the  polish'd  breasts 

of  melons. 

'^  And  as  to  you  Lif  _^,  I  reckon  you  arc  the  leavings  of 

many  deaths  ; 
(No   doubt  I  have   died  myself   ten   thousand  times 

before.) 

"'^  I  hear  you  whispei'ing  there,  O  stars  of  heaven  ; 
O  suns  !  O  grass  of  graves  !  O  perpetual  transfers  and 


promotions 


If  you  do  not  say  anything,  how  can  I  say  anything  ? 

^^  Of  the  turbid  pool  that  lies  in  the  autumn  forest. 
Of  the  moon  that  descends  the  steeps  of  the  soughing 

twilight. 
Toss,  sparlvles  of  day  and  dusk  !  toss  on  the  black  stems 

that  decay  in  the  muck  ! 
Toss  to  the  moaning  gibberish  of  the  dry  limbs. 

^'  I  ascend  from  the  moon,  I  ascend  fi'om  the  night ; 

I  perceive  that  the  ghastly  glimmer  is  noondaj'  sunbeams 
reflected  ; 

And  debouch  to  the  steady  and  central  fi'om  the  off- 
spring great  or  small. 


94  Leaves  of  Geass. 

50 

^^^  There  is  that  in  me — I  do  not  know  what  it  is — but 
I  know  it  is  in  me. 

3w  ■^Yrench'd  and  sweaty — calm  and  cool  then  my  body 

becomes  ; 
I  sleep — I  sleep  long. 

^^°  I  do  not  know  it— it  is  without  name — it  is  a  word 

unsaid  ; 
It  is  not  in  any  dictionary,  utterance,  symbol. 

^^'  Something  it  swings  on  more  than  the  earth  I  swing 

on  ; 
To  it  the  creation  is  the  friend  v/hose  embracing  awakes 


352  pci-i^aps  I  might  tell  more.     Outlines !  I  plead  for 
my  brothers  and  sisters. 

"53  Dq  yoQ  gee,  O  my  brothers  and  sisters  ? 
It  is  not  chaos  or  death — it  is  form,  union,  plan — it  is 
eternal  hfe — it  is  Happiness. 

51 

354  ijij^Q  pg^g^  r^j^^  present  Vv^lt — I  have  nll'd  them,  emp- 
tied them, 
And  proceed  to  fiU  my  next  fold  of  the  future. 

^'^  Listener  up  there  !     Here,  you  !     What  have  you  to 

confide  to  me  ? 
Look  in  my  face,  while  I  snuff  the  sidle  of  evening  ; 
Talk  honestly — no  one  else  hears  you,  and  I  stay  only  a 

minute  longer. 

^'^  Do  I  contradict  myself  ? 

Very  well,  then,  I  contradict  myself  ; 

(I  am  large — I  contain  multitudes.) 

^"  I  concentrate  toward  them  that  are  nigh — I  wait  on 
the  door-slab. 


Walt  Whitman.  95 

35S  Who  Las  clone  his  day's  work  ?    Wlio  will  soonest  be 

tlirougli  with  his  suiDper  ? 
Who  v/ishes  to  walk  with  me  ? 

S59  YiiH  you  speak  before  I  am  gone  ?  Will  you  prove 
already  too  late  ? 

52 

^^^  The  spotted  hawk  swoops  by  and  accuses  me — he 
complains  of  my  gab  and  my  loitering. 

^^'  I  too  am  not  a  bit  tamed — I  too  am  untranslatable  ; 
I  sound  my  barbaric  yawp  over  the  roofs  of  the  world. 

^^-  The  last  scud  of  day  holds  back  for  me  ; 

It  flings  my  likeness  after  the  rest,  and  true  as  any,  on 

the  shadow'd  wilds  ; 
It  coaxes  me  to  the  vapor  and  the  dusk. 

"•'^  I  depart  as  air — I  shake  my  white  locks  at  the  run- 

av/ay  sun  ; 
I  eSuse  my  flesh  in  eddies,  and  drift  it  in  lacj  jags, 

^"  I  bequeathe  myself  to  the  dirt,  to  grow  from  the 
grass  I  love  ; 

If  you  want  me  again,  look  for  me  under  your  boot- 
soles. 

^^^  You  will  hardly  know  who  I  am,  or  what  I  mean  ; 
But  I  shall  be  good  health  to  you  nevertheless. 
And  filter  and  fibre  youi'  blood. 

^^^  Failing  to  fetch  me  at  first,  keep  encouraged  ; 
Missing  me  one  place,  search  another  ; 
I  stop  somewhere,  waiting  for  you. 


96  Leaves  of  Grass. 


Laws    for    Creations. 

'  Lav/s  for  Creations, 

For  strong  artists  and  leaders — for  fresh  broods  of 

teachers,  and  perfect  Hterats  for  America, 
For  noble  savans,  and  coming  musicians. 

"^  All  must  have  reference  to  the  ensemble  of  the  world, 
and  the  compact  truth  of  the  vt^orld  ; 

There  shall  be  no  subject  too  pronounced — All  works 
shall  illustrate  the  divine  law  of  indirections 

^  "What  do  you  suppose  Creation  is  ? 

"What  do  you  suppose  will  satisfy  the  Soul,  except  to 
walk  fi-ee,  and  own  no  superior? 

"What  do  you  suppose  I  would  intimate  to  you  in  a  hun- 
dred ways,  but  that  man  or  woman  is  as  good  as 
God? 

And  that  there  is  ?io  God  any  more  divine  than  Your- 
self? 

And  that  that  is  what  the  oldest  and  newest  myths 
finally  mean  ? 

And  that  you  or  any  one  must  approach  Creations 
through  such  lav/s  ? 


VISOR'D. 

A  mask — a  perpetual  natural  disguiser  of  herself, 
Concealing  her  face,  concealing  her  form. 
Changes  and   transformations  every  hoiu",  every  mo- 
ment. 
Falling  ux^on  her  even  when  she  sleeps. 


Leaves  of  Grass. 


To  THE  Garden,  the  World. 

To  THE  gai'deu,  tlie  world,  anew  ascending, 

Potent  mates,  daugliters,  sons,  pi-eluding, 

The  love,  tlie  life  of  their  bodies,  meaning  and  being, 

Curious,  here  behold  ray  resurrection,  after  slumber  ; 

The  revolving  cycles,  in  their  wide  sweep,  having  brought 

me  again. 
Amorous,  mature — all  beautiful  to  me — all  wondrous  ; 
My  limbs,  and  the  quivering  lire  that  ever  plays  through 

them,  for  reasons,  most  wondrous  ; 
Existing,  I  peer  and  penetrate  still. 
Content  with  the  present — content  v/ith  the  past. 
By  my  side,  or  back  of  me.  Eve  following. 
Or  in  front,  and  I  following  her  just  the  same. 


From  Pent-up  Aching  Rivers. 

From  pent-up,  aching  livers  ■; 

From  that  of  myself,  without  which  I  were  nothing  ; 

From  what  I  am  determin'd  to  make  illustrious,  even 

if  I  stand  sole  among  men  ; 
From  my  own  voice  resonant — singing  the  phallus, 
Singing  the  song  of  procreation, 
5 


98  Leaves  of  Gp.ass. 

Singing  the  need  of  superb  children,  and  therein  superb 

grown  people, 
Singing  the  muscular  lu'ge  and  the  blending, 
Singing  the  bedfellow's  song,  (0  resistless  yearning ! 
O  for  any  and  each,  the  body  correlative  attracting ! 

0  for  you,  whoever  you  are,  your  correlative  body !   0 

it,  more  than  ail  else,  you  delighting !) 

— From  the  hungry  gnaw  that  cats  mo  night  and 
day  ; 

From  native  moments — from  bashful  pains — Singing 
them  ; 

Singing  something  yeb  unfound,  though  I  have  dili- 
gently sought  it,  many  a  long  year  ; 

Singing  the  true  song  of  the  Soul,  fitful,  at  random  ; 

Singing  wliat,  to  the  Soul,  entirely  redeem'd  her,  the 
faithful  one,  even  the  prostitute,  who  detain'd 
me  when  I  went  to  the  city  ; 

Singing  the  song  of  prostitutes  ; 

Renascent  with  grossest  Nature,  or  among  animals  ; 

Of  that — of  them,  and  what  goes  with  them,  my  poems 
informing  ; 

Of  the  smell  of  apples  and  lemons — of  the  pahing  of 
birds, 

Of  the  wet  of  woods — of  the  lapping  of  waves. 

Of  the  mad  pushes  of  waves  upon  the  land — I  them 
chanting  ; 

The  overture  lightly  sounding — the  strain  anticipat- 
ing- • 

The  welcome  nearness — the  sight  of  the  perfect  body  ; 

The  swimmer  swimming  nalied  in  the  bath,  or  motion- 
less on  his  bade  Tying  and  floating  ; 

Tiie  female  form  approaching— I,  pensive,  love-flesh 
tremulous,  aching  ; 

The  divine  list,  for  myself  or  you,  or  for  any  one,  mak- 

The  face — the  limbs — the  index  from  head  to  foot,  and 

what  it  arouses  ; 
The  mystic  deliria — the   madness   amorous — the  utter 

abandonment ; 
(Harli  close,  and  still,  what  I  now  whisper  to  you, 

1  lovs  yon— O  you  entirely  possess  me, 


Chtlbrex  0?  Adatj.  99 

0  I  wish  that  you  and  I  escape  from  the  rest,  and  go 

utterly  off — O  free  and  lawless, 
Two  hawks  iu  the  air — two  fishes  swimming  in  the  sea 

not  more  lawless  than  we  ;) 
■ — The  furious  storm  through  me  careering — I  passion- 
ately trembUng  ; 
The  oath  of  the  inseparableness  of  two  together — of  the 

woman  that  loves  me,  and  whom  I  love  more 

than  my  life — that  oath  swearing  ; 
(O  I  wilHngly  stake  all,  for  you  ! 
O  let  me  be  lost,  if  it  must  be  so  ! 
O  you  and  I — what  is  it  to  us  what  the  rest  do  or 

think  ? 
What  is  all  else  to  us  ?  only  that  we  enjoy  each  other, 

and  exhaust  each  other,  if  it  must  be  so  :) 
— From  the  master — the  pilot  I  yield  the  vessel  to  ; 
The  general  commanding  me,  commanding  all — from 

him  permission  taking ; 
From  time  the  programme  hastening,  (I  have  loiter'd 

too  long,  as  to  is  ;) 
From  ses — From  the  warp  and  fi-om  the  woof  ; 
(To  talk  to  the  perfect  girl  who  understands  me, 
To  waft  to  her  these  from  my  own  lips — to  effuse  them 

from  my  own  body  ;) 
From  privacy — from  frequent  repinings  alone  ; 
From  plenty  of  persons  near,  and  yet  the  right  person 

not  near  ; 
From  the  soft  sliding  of  hands  over  me,  and  thrusting 

of  fingers  through  my  hair  and  beard  ; 
From    the    long   sustain'd    kiss  upon    the   mouth    or 

bosom  ; 
From  the  close  pressure  that  makes  me  or  any  man 

drunk,  fainting  with  excess  ; 
From  what  the  divine  husband  know^s — fi'om  the  work 

of  fatherhood  ; 
From  exultation,  victory,  and  relief — from  the  bedfel- 

lov/'s  embrace  in  the  night ; 
From  the  act-poems  of  eyes,  hands,  hips,  and  bosoms. 
From  the  cling  of  the  trembling  arm. 
From  the  bending  curve  and  the  clinch. 
From  side  by  side,  the  pliant  coverlid  off-throwing. 


100  Leaves  o?  Grass. 

From  the  one  so  unwilling  to  liave  me  leave — and  me 

just  as  unwilling  to  leave, 
(Yet  a  moment,  O  tender  waiter,  and  I  return  ;) 
— From  tlie  hour  of  shining  stars  and  dropping  dews, 
From  the  night,  a  moment,  I,  emerging,  flitting  out. 
Celebrate  you,  act  diviue — and  you,  children  prepared 

for. 
And  you,  stalwart  loins. 


I  SING  THE  BODY  ELECTRIC. 
1 

'  I  SING  the  Body  electric  ; 

The  armies  of  those  I  love  ongirth  me,  and  I  engirth 

them  ; 
They  wall  not  let  me  off  till  I  go  with  them,  respond  to 

them. 
And  discorrupt  them,  and  charge  them  full  wiLh  the 

charge  of  the  Soul. 

^  Was  it  doubted  that  those  who  corrupt  their  own 
bodies  conceal  themselves  ?  " 

And  if  those  who  defile  the  living  are  as  bad  as  they 
who  defile  the  dead  ? 

And  if  the  body  does  not  do  as  much  as  the  Soul  ? 

ibid  if  the  body  were  not  the  Soul,  what  is  the  Soul? 


"  The  love  of  the  Body  of  man  or. woman  balks  ac- 
count— the  body  itself  balks  account.'; 

That  of  the  male  is  perfect,  and  that  of  the:  female  is' 
perfect.  .";  1  :>;.'.:';  i . .  -'•. '. 

■*  The  expression  of  the  face  balks  accouiit ; 


Childeen  of  Adam.  101 

But  the  expression  of  a  v;ell-made  man  ai^pears  not 

only  in  bis  face  ; 
Ifc  is  in  liis  limbs  and  joints  also,  it  is  curiously  in  the 

joints  of  his  hips  and  wrists  ; 
It,  is  in  his  walk,  the  carriage  of  his  neck,  the  flex  of  his 

waist  and  knees — di-ess  does  not  hide  him  ; 
The  strong,  sweet,  supple  quality  he  has,  strikes  through 

the  cotton  and  flannel ; 
To  see  him  pass  conveys  as  much  as  the  best  poem, 

perhaps  more  ; 
You  linger  to  see  his  back,  and  the  back  of  his  neck 

and  shoulder-side. 


^  The  sprawl  and  fulness  of  babes,  the  bosoms  and 
heads  of  woriien,  the  folds  of  their  dress,  their 
style  as  we  pass  in  the  street,  the  contour  of 
their  shape  downwards, 

The  swimmer  naked  in  the  swimming-bath,  seen  as  he 
swims  through  the  transparent  green-shine,  or 
lies  with  his  face  up,  and  rolls  silently  to  and  fro 
in  the  heave  of  the  water. 

The  bending  forward  and  backward  of  rowers  in  row- 
boats — the  horseman  in  his  saddle, 

Girls,  mothers,  house-keepers,  in  all  their  performances, 

The  group  of  laborers  seated  at  noon-time  with  their 
open  dinner-kettles,  and  their  wives  waiting. 

The  female  soothing  a  child — the  farmer's  daughter  in 
the  garden  or  cow-yard. 

The  young  fellow  hoeing  corn — the  sleigh-driver  guiding 
his  six  horses  through  the  crowd, 

The  wrestle  of  wrestlers,  two  apprentice-boys,  quite 
grown,  lusty,  good-natured,  native-born,  out  on 
the  vacant  lot  at  sun-down,  after  work, 

The  coats  and  caps  thrown  down,  the  embrace  of  love 
and  resistance. 

The  upper-hold  and  under-hold,  the  hair  rumpled  over 
and  blinding  the  eyes  ; 

The  march  of  firemen  in  their  own  costumes,  the  play 
of  masculine  muscle  through  clean-setting  trow- 
sers  and  v/aist-straps, 


102  Leaves  op  Geass. 

The  slow  return  from  the  fire,  the  pause  when  the  bell 

strikes  suddenly  again,  and  the  listening  on  the 

alert, 
The  natural,  perfect,  varied  attitudes — the  bent  head, 

the  curv'd  neck,  and  the  counting  ; 
Such-like  I  love — I  loosen  myself,  pass  freely,  am  at  the 

mother's  breast  with  the  httle  child, 
Swim  with  the  swimmers,  wrestle  with  wrestlers,  march 

in  line  v/ith  the  firemen,  and  j)ause,  listen,  and 

count. 

3 

*^  I  knew  a  man,  a  common  farmer — the  father  of  five 

sons ; 
And  in  them  were  the  fathers  of  sons — and  in  them 

Vv^ere  the  fathers  of  sons. 

''  Tins  man  vfas  cf  v,-onderful  vigor,  calmness,  beauty 
of  person  ; 

The  shape  of  his  head,  the  pale  yellow  ai I  whif:e  of 
his  hair  and  beard,  and  the  immeasurable  mean- 
ing of  his  black  eyes — the  richness  and  breadth 
of  his  manners, 

These  I  used  to  go  and  visit  him  to  see— he  was  wise 
also  ; 

He  was  six  feet  tall,  he  was  over  eighty  years  old — his 
sons  were  massive,  clean,  bearded,  tan-faced, 
handsome  ; 

They  and  his  daughters  loved  him  — all  who  saw  him 
loved  him  ; 

They  did  not  love  him  by  allowance — they  loved  him 
w^ith  personal  love  ; 

He  drank  water  only — the  blood  show'd  like  scarlet 
through  the  clear -brown  skin  of  his  face  ; 

He  was  a  frequent  gunner  and  fisher  -he  sail'd  his  boat 
himself — ^he  had  a  fine  one  presented  to  him  by 
a  ship-joiner — he  had  fowling-pieces,  presented 
to  him  by  men  that  loved  him  ; 

When  he  went  with  his  five  sons  and  many  grand-sons 
to  hunt  or  fish,  you  would  pick  him  out.  as  the 
most  beautiful  and  vigorous  of  the  gang, 


Children  of  Adam.  103 

You  would  wish  long  and  long  to  be  with  him — you 
would  wish  to  sit  by  him  in  the  boat,  that  you 
and  he  might  touch  each  other. 


^  I  have  psrceiv'd  that  to  be  with  those  I  like  is  enough. 
To  stop  in  company  with  the  rest  at  evening  is  enough, 
To  be    surrounded    by   beautiful,    cuiious,   breathing, 

laughing  flesh  is  enough, 
To  pass  among  them,  or  touch  any  one,  or  rest  my  arm 
ever  so  lightly  round  his  or  her  neck  for  a  mo- 
ment— what  is  thi-',  then  ? 
I  do  not  ask  any  more  delight — I  swim  in  it,  as  in  a  sea. 

®  There  is  something  in  staying  close  to  men  and  women, 
and  looking  on  them,  and  in  the  contact  and 
odor  of  them,  that  pleases  the  soul  v.-ell ; 

All  things  pleaie  the  soul^but  these  please  the  soul 
well. 


'"  This  is  the  female  form  ; 

A  divine  nimbus  exhales  from  it  from  head  to  foot ; 

It  attracts  with  fierce  undeniable  attraction  ! 

I  am  cli'awn  by  its  breath  as  if  I  were  no  more  than  a 
helpless  vapor — all  falls  aside  but  myself  and  it ; 

Books,  art,  religion,  time,  the  visible  and  solid  earth, 
the  atmosphere  and  the  clouds,  and  what  was 
expected  of  heaven  or  fear'd  of  hell,  are  nov7 
consumed  ; 

Mad  filaments,  ungovernable  shoots  play  out  of  it — the 
response  hkewise  ungovernable  ; 

Hair,  bosom,  hips,  bend  of  legs,  negligent  falhng  hands, 
all  diffused — mine  too  diffused  ; 

Ebb  stung  by  the  flow,  and  flow  stung  by  the  ebb — 
love-flesh  swelling  and  dehciously  aching  ; 

Limitless  limpid  jets  of  love  hot  and  enormous,  quiver- 
ing jelly  of  love,  white-blovv'  and  delirious  juice  ; 

Bridegroom  night  of  love,  working  surely  and  softly 
into  the  prostrate  dawn  ; 


104  Leaves  oe  Geass. 

Undulating  into  tlae  willing  and  yielding  day, 

Lost  in  the  cleave  of  the  clasping  and  sweet-tiesh'd  day. 

"  This  is  the  nucleus — after  the  child  is  born  of  woman, 

the  man  is  born  of  woman  ; 
This  is  the  bath  of  birth — this  is  the  merge  of  small 

and  large,  and  the  outlet  again. 

'-  Be  not  ashamed,  women — your  privilege  encloses  the 

rest,  and  is  the  exit  of  the  rest ; 
You  are  the  gates  of  the  body,  and  you  are  the  gates  of 

the  soul. 

'^  The  female  contains  all  qualities,  and  tempers  them 

— she  is  in  her  place,  and  moves  with  perfect 

balance  ; 
She  is  all  things  duly  veil'd — she  is  both  passive  and 

active  ; 
She  is  to  conceive  daughters  as  well  as  sons,  and  sons 

as  well  as  daughters. 

'^  As  T  see  my  soul  reflected  in  nature  ; 

As  I  see  through  a  mist,  one  with  inexpressible  com- 
pleteness and  beauty. 

See  the  bent  head,  and  arms  folded  over  the  breast — 
the  female  I  see. 


'^  The  male  is  not  less  the  soul,  nor  more — ^he  too  is  in 
his  place  ; 

He  too  is  all  qualities — he  is  action  and  power  ; 

The  flush  of  the  kiiown  universe  is  in  him  ; 

Scorn  becomes  him  well,  and  appetite  and  defiance  be- 
come him  well ; 

The  wildest  largest  passions,  bliss  that  is  utmost,  sor- 
row that  is  utmost,  become  him  well — pride  is 
for  him  ; 

The  full-spread  pride  of  man  is  calming  and  excellent 
to  the  soul ; 

Knowledge  becomes  him — ^he  likes  it  alvvays — he  brings 
everything  to  the.test  of  himself ; 


Childeen  of  Adam.  105 

'iVhatever  the  stirvej,  whatever  the  sea  and  (he  sail,  he 

strikes  soundings  at  last  only  here  ; 
(Where  else  does  he  strike  soundings,  except  here  ?) 

'"  The  man's  body  is  sacred,  and  the  woman's  body  is 

sacred  ; 
No  matter  w^ho  it  is,  it  is  sacred  ; 
Is  it  a  slave  ?     Is.  it  one  of  the  dull- faced  immigrants 

just  landed  on  the  wharf  ? 
Each  belongs  here  or  anywhere,  just  as  much  as  the 

w^cU-off — ^just  as  much  as  you  ; 
Each  has  his  or  her  place  in  the  procession. 

''  (All  is  a  procession  ; 

The  imiverse  is  a  procession,  w'ith  measiu'ed  and  beau- 
tiful motion. ) 

'^  Do  you  know^  so  mucli  yourself,  that  you  call  the  slave 
or  the  dull-face  ignorant  ? 

Do  3'ou  suppose  you  have  a  right  to  a  good  sight,  and 
he  or  she  has  no  right  to  a  sight? 

Do  you  think  matter  has  cohered  together  from  its  dif- 
fuse float— and  the  soil  is  on  the  surface,  and 
water  runs,  and  vegetation  sprouts. 

For  you  only,  ancl  not  for  him  and  her  ? 


'^  A  man's  Body  at  auction  ; 

I  help  the  auctioneer — the  sloven  does  not  half  know 
his  business. 

^^  Gentlemen,  look  on  this  wonder ! 

Whatever  the  bids  of  the  bidders,  they  cannot  be  high 

enough  for  it ; 
For  it  the  globe  lay  preparing  cpiintillions  of  years, 

v.'ithout  one  animal  or  plant ; 
For  it  the  revolving  cycles  truly  and  steadily  roll'd. 

*"  In  this  head  the  aU-baffling  brain  ; 

In  it  and  below  it,  the  makings  of  heroes. 


lOo  Leaves  of  Grass. 

^^  Examine  these  limbs,  red,  black,  or  white — they  are 

so  cunning  in  tendon  and  nerve  ; 
They  sha,ll  be  stript,  that  you  maj  see  them. 

"'  Exquisite  senses,  life-lit  eye:^,  plucl:,  volition. 

Flakes  of  breast-muscle,  pliant  back-bone  and  neck,  flesh 

not  iiabby,  good-sized  arms  and  legs, 
And  wonders  within  there  yet. 

-^  Within  there  runs  blood, 

The  same  old  blood! 

The  same  red-running  blood ! 

There  swells  and  jets  a  heart — there  all  passions,  de- 
sires, reaehings,  aspirations  ; 

Do  you  think  they  are  nob  there  because  they  are  not 
express'd  in  parlors  and  lecture-rooms  ? 

-^  This  is  not  only  one  man — this  is  the  father  of  tho:o 
who  shall  be  fathers  in  their  turns  ; 

In  him  the  start  of  populous  states  and  rich  republics  ; 

Of  him  countless  immortal  lives,  with  countless  embod- 
iments and  enjoyments. 

^^  How  do  you  know  who  shall  come  from  the  offspring 
of  his  offspring  through  the  centuries? 

"Who  might  you  find  you  have  come  from  yourself,  if 
you  could  trace  back  through  the  centuries  ? 


"  A  woman's  Body  at  auction ! 

She  too  is  not  only  herself — she  is  the  teeming  mother 

of  mothers  ; 
She  is  the  bearer  of  them  that  shall  grov/  and  be  mates 

to  the  mothers. 

■^  Have  you  ever  loved  the  Body  of  a  woman  ? 
Have  you  ever  loved  the  Body  of  a  man  ? 
Your  father — where  is  your  father  ? 
Your  mother — is  she  living  ?  have  you  been  much  with 
her  ?  and  has  she  been  much  with  you  ? 


Childri;:^  of  iiDAM.  107 

— Do  you  not  see  tliat  these  are  exactly  the  same  to  all, 
in  all  nations  and  times,  all  over  the  eai'th  ? 

^"  If  any  thing  is  sacred,  the  human  body  is  sacred, 
And  the  glory  aud  sweet  of  a  man,  is  the  token  of  man- 
hood untainted  ; 
And  in  man  or  ^Yoman,  a  clean,  strong,  firm-fibred  body, 
is  beautiful  as  the  most  beautiful  face. 

^^  Have  you  seen  the  fool  that  corrupted  his  own  live 
body  ?  or  the  fool  that  corruptedher  own  live  body  ? 

For  they  do  not  conceal  themselves,  and  cannot  conceal 
themselves. 

9 

^'  O  my  Body !  I  dare  not  desert  the  likes  of  you  in 

other  men  and  women,  nor  the  likes  of  the  parts 

of  you ; 
I  believe  the  likes  of  you  are  to  stand  or  fall  with  the 

likes  of  the  Soul,  (and  that  they  are  the  Soul ;) 
I  believe  the  likes  of  you   shall  stand  or  fall  with  my 

poems— and  that  they  are  poems, 
T'.Im's,    woman's,    child's,    youth's,    wife's,    husband's, 

mother's,  father's,  young  man's,  youog  woman's 

poems  ; 
Head,  neck,  hair,  ears,  drop  and  tympan  of  the  ears. 
Eyes,  eye-fringes,  iris  of  the  eye,  eye-brows,  and  the 

waking  or  sleeping  of  the  lids. 
Mouth,  tongue,  lips,  teeth,  roof  of  the  mouth,  jaws,  and 

the  jav^^-hinges. 
Nose,  nostrils  of  the  nose,  and  the  partition. 
Cheeks,  temples,   forehead,  chin,  thi'oat,  back  of  the 

neck,  neck-slue. 
Strong  shoulders,  manly  beard,  scapula,  hind-shoulders, 

and  the  ample  side-round  of  the  chest. 
Up)per-arm,     arm-pit,    elbow-socket,    lower-arm,    arm- 
sinews,  arm-bones. 
Wrist  and  wrist-joints,  hand,  palm,  knuckles,  thumb, 

fore-finger,  finger-balls,  finger-joints,  finger-nails. 
Broad  breast-front,  curhng  hair  of  the  breast,  breast- 

bone,  breast-side, 


108  .  Leaves  of  Grass..' 

Ribs,  bel'ij^  bacli-bone,  joints  of  the'baclc-boiae,  :   - 

Hip.3,  hip-sockets,  liip-strcug-th,  inward  and  outward 

round,  mau-balls,  man-root, 
Strong  set  of  tliiglis,  welt  carrying  the  trunk  above, 
Leg-libres,  knee,  knee-pan,  upper-leg,  under  leg, 
Ankles,  instep,  foot-ball,  toes,  toe-joints,  the  heel ; 
Ail  attitudes,  all  the  shapeliness,  all  the  belongings  of 

my  or  your  body,  or  of  any  one's  bod^^,  male  or 

female, 
The  lung-sponges,  the  storaach-sac,  the  bowels  sweet 

and  clean, 
The  brain  in  its  folds  inside  the  skull-frame. 
Sympathies,  hsart-valves,  palate-valves,  sexuality,  ma- 
ternity. 
Womanhood,  and  all  that  is  a  woman — and  the  man 

that  comes  from  woman, 
The  womb,  the  teats,  nipples,  breast-milk,  tears,  laugh- 
ter, weeping,  love-looks,  love-perturbations  and 

risings, 
The  voice,  articulation,  language,  whispering,  shouthig- 

aloud. 
Food,    drink,  pulse,   digestion,   sv.'eat,   sleej),   walking, 

swimming. 
Poise  on  the  hips,  leaping,  reclining,  embracing,  arm- 

curA^ing  and  tightening, 
Tbe  continual  changes  of  the  ilex  of  the  mouth,  and 

around  the  eyes, 
The  skin,  the  sun-burnt  shade,  freckles,  hair. 
The  curious  sympathy  one  feels,  when  feeling  with  the 

hand  the  naked  meat  of  the  body, 
The  cii'cling  rivers,  the  breath,  and  breathing  it  in  and  out. 
The  beauty  of  the  waist,  and  thence  of  the  hips,  and 

thence  downward  toward  the  knees. 
The  thin  red  jellies  within  you,  or  within  me — the  bones, 

and  the  marrow  in  the  bones. 
The  exquisite  realization  of  health  ; 
O  I  say,  these  are  not  the  parts  and  poems  of  the  Body 

only,  but  of  the  Soul, 
O  I  say  nov/  these  are  the  Soul! 


Childken  or  Adam.  109 


A  Woman  Waits  for  Me. 

'  A  Vk'OMAN  waits  for  me — she  contains  all,  nothing  is 
lacking, 

Yet  all  were  lacldng,  if  sex  were  lacting,  or  if  the  mois- 
ture of  the  right  man  were  laching. 

-  Sex  contains  all, 

Bodies,  Souls,  meanings,  proofs,  purities,  delicacies,  re- 
sults, promulgations, 

Songs,  commands,  health,  pride,  the  maternal  mystery, 
the  seminal  milk ; 

All  hopes,  benefactions,  bestowals. 

All  the  passions,  loves,  beauties,  delights  of  the  earth, 

All  the  governments,  judges,  gods,  follow'd  x^ei'sons  of 
the  earth, 

These  are  eontain'd  in  sex,  as  parts  of  itself,  and  justi- 
ficaiions  of  itself. 

^  Yv^ithout  shame  the  man  I  lite  knows  and  avows  the 

deliciousness  of  his  sex, 
Without  shame  the  woman  I  like  knows  and  avows  herrj. 

*  Now  I  v/ill  dismiss  myself  from  impassive  women, 
I  will  go  stay  with  her  vv'ho  waits  for  me,  and  with  those 

women  that  are  warm-blooded  and  sufficient  for 

me ; 
I  see  that  they  understand  me,  and  do  not  deny  me  ; 
I  see  that  they  are  worthy  of  me — I  will  be  the  robust 

husband  of  those  women. 

'^  They  are  not  one  jot  less  than  I  am. 

They  are  tann'd  in  the  face  by  shining  suns  and  blow- 
ing winds. 

Their  flesh  has  the  old  divine  suppleness  and  strength, 

They  know  how  to  swim,  row,  ride,  wrestle,  shoot,  run, 
strike,  retreat,  advance,  resist,  defend  them- 
selves. 


110  Leaves  of  Grass. 

They  are  ultimate  in  tlicir  own  riglit — they  are  cahn, 
clear,  well-possess'd  of  themselves.   ^ 

'■  I  droLYf  you  close  to  me,  you  women ! 

I  cannot  let  you  go,  I  would  do  you  good, 

I  am  for  you,  and  you  are  for  me,  not  only  for  our  own 

sake,  but  for  others'  sakes  ; 
Envelop'd  in  you  sleep  greater  heroes  and  bards, 
They  refuse  to  awake  at  the  touch  of  any  man  but  me. 

'  It  is  I,  you  women — I  make  my  way, 
I  am  stern,  acrid,  large,  undissuadable — but  I  love  you, 
I  do  not  hurt  you  any  more  than  is  necessary  for  you, 
I  poiu-  the- stuff  to  vstart  sons  and  daughters  fit  for 

These  States — I  press  with  slow  rude  muscle, 
I  brace  myself  effectually — I  listen  to  no  entreaties, 
I  dare  not  withdraw  till  I  deposit  what  has  so  long 

accumulated  within  me. 

^  Through  5'ou  I  drain  the  pent-up  rivers  of  myself, 

In  you  I  wrap  a  thousand  onward  years. 

On  you  I  graft  the  grafts  of  the  best-beloved  of  me  and 

America, 
The  drops  I  distil  upon  you  shall  grow  fierce  and  ath- 
letic girls,  new  artists,  musicians,  and  singers. 
The  babes  I  beget  upon  you  are  to  beget  babes  in  their 

turn, 
I  shill  demand  perfect  men  and  v,'onien  out  of  my  love- 

spendings, 
I  shall  expect  them  to  interpenetrate  with  others,  as  I 

and  you  interpenetrate  now, 
I  shall  count  on  the  fruits  of  the  gushing  showers  of 

them,  as  I  count  on  the  fruits  of  the  gushing 

showers  I  give  now, 
I  shall  look  for  loving  crops  fi'om  the  birth,  life,  death, 

immortality,  I  plant  so  lovingly  now. 


CHILDr.ElT    OF    Al>A?J.  Ill 


Spontaneous  Me. 

Spontaneous  rae,  ISTaturo, 

The  loving  day,  the  mounting  sun,  the  friend  I  arn 
happy  with. 

The  arm  of  my. friend  ha,nging  idly  over  my  shoulder, 

The  liill-side  whiten'd  with  blossoms  of  the  mountain 
ash. 

The  same,  late  in  autumn — the  hues  of  red,  yellow, 
drab,  purple,  and  Hglit  and  dark  green. 

The  rich  coverlid  of  the  grass — animals  and  birds — 
the  private  untrimm'd  bank — the  primitive  ap- 
ples— the  pebble-stones, 

Beautiful  dripping  fi-agments — the  negligent  hst  of  one 
after  another,  as  I  happen  to  call  them  to  mo,  or 
think  of  them. 

The  real  poems,  (what  v/e  call  poems  being  merety  pic- 
tures,) 

The  poems  of  the  privacy  of  the  night,  and  of  men  like 
me, 

This  poem,  drooping  shy  and  unseen,  that  I  always 
carry,  and  that  all  men  carry, 

(Know,  once  for  all,  avow'd  on  purpose,  w^herever  are 
men  like  me,  are  oui'  lusly,  lurking,  masculine 
poems ;) 

Love-thoughts*,  love-juice,  love-odor,  love-yielding,  love- 
climbers,  and  the  climbing  sap. 

Arms  and  hands  of  love — lips  of  love — ^phallic  thumb 
of  love — breasts  of  love — ^bellies  press'd  and 
glued  together  with  love, 

Earth  of  chaste  love — life  tbat  is  only  Hfe  after  love. 

The  body  of  my  love — the  body  of  the  woman  I  love — 
the  body  of  the  man — the  body  of  the  earth. 

Soft  forenoon  airs  that  blow  from  the  south-west. 

The  hairy  wild-bee  that  murmurs  and  hankers  up  and 
down — that  gxipes  the  full-gi'own  lady-flower, 
curves  upon  her  with  amorous  firm  legs,  takes 
his  will  of  her,  and  holds  himself  tremulous  aud 
tight  till  he  is  satisfied, 


112  Leaves  of  Grass. 

Tiie  wet  of  woods  througli  tlie  earlj  hours, 

Two  sleepers  at  night  lying  close  together  as  they  sleep, 
one  with  an  arm  slanting  down  across  and  below 
the  waist  of  the  other, 

The  smell  of  apples,  aromas  from  ernsh'd  sage-plan  1, 
mint,  birch-bark, 

The  boy's  longings,  the  glow  and  pressui'e  as  he  con- 
fides to  me  wliat  he  was  dreaming. 

The  dead  leaf  whirhng  its  spii'al  whii-1,  and  falling  still 
and  content  to  the  ground, 

The  no-form'd  stings  that  sights,  people,  objects,  sting 
me  with. 

The  hubb'd  sting  of  myself,  stinging  me  as  much  as  it 
ever  can  any  one. 

The  sensitive,  orbic,  underlapp'd  brothers,  that  only 
privileged  feelers  may  be  intimate  where  tbey 
are, 

The  curious  roamer,  the  hand,  roaming  all  over  the 
body — the  bashful  withdrawing  of  flesh  where 
the  fingers  soothingly  pause  and  edge  them- 
selves. 

The  limpid  liquid  within  the  young  man. 

The  vexed  corrosion,  so  pensive  and  so  painful. 

The  torjnent — the  irritable  tide  that  will  not  be  at  rest. 

The  like  of  the  same  I  feel — the  hke  of  the  same  in 
others, 

The  young  man  that  flushes  and  flushes,  and  the  young- 
woman  that  flushes  and  flushes. 

The  young  man  that  wakes,  deep  at  night,  the  hot 
hand  seeking  to  repress  what  would  master 
him  ; 

The  mystic  amorous  night — the  strange  half-welcome 
pangs,  visions,  sweats. 

The  pulse  pounding  through  palms  and  trembhng  en- 
circling fingers — the  young  man  all  color'd,  red, 
ashamed,  angry  ; 

The  souse  upon  me  of  my  lover  the  sea,  as  I  lie  willing 
and  naked. 

The  merriment  of  the  twin-babes  that  crawl  over  the 
grass  in  the  sun,  the  mother  never  turning  her 
vigilant  eyes  from  them, 


Children  of  Adam.  113 

The  waluufc-trunk,  the  walnut-husks,  and  the  ripening 

or  ripsu'd  long-round  walnuts  ; 
The  continence  of  vegetables,  birds,  animals, 
The  consequent  meanness  of  me  should  I  skulk  or  find 

myself  indecent,  while  birds  and  animals  never 

once  skulk  or  find  themselves  indecent ; 
The   great   chastity   of  paternity,  to   match  the  great 

chastity  of  maternity, 
The  oath  of  procreation  I  have  sworn— my  Adamic  and 

fresh  daughters. 
The  greed  that  eats  me  day  and  night  with  hungry 

gnaw,  till  I  saturate  v/hat  shall  produce  boys  to 

fill  mj'  place  when  I  am  through, 
The  wholesome  relief,  repose,  content ; 
And  this  bunch,  pluck'd  at  random  from  myself  ; 
It  has  done  its  work — I  toss  it  carelessly  to  fall  where 

it  may. 


One  Hour  to  Madnzss  and  Joy. 

'  One  hour  to  madness  and  joy ! 
O  furious  !  O  confine  me  not ! 
(What  is  this  that  frees  me  so  in  storms? 
What  do  my  shouts  amid  lightnings  and  raging  winds 
mean  ?) 

■  O  to  dvinlc  the  mystic  deliria  deeper  than  any  other 
man  ! 

0  savage  and  tender  achmgs  ! 

(I  bequeath  them  to  yoa,  my  children, 

1  tell  them  to  you,  for  reasons,  O  bridegroom  and  bride.) 

•'  O  to  be  yielded  to  you,  whoever  you  are,  and  you  to 
be  yielded  to  me,  in  defiance  of  the  world  ! 

O  to  return  to  Paradise  !  O  bashful  and  feminme  ! 

O  to  di-aw  5-0U  to  ms — ^to  plant  on  you  for  the  first  time 
the  lips  of  a  deteroin'd  man  ! 


114  Leaves  of  Grass. 

■*  O  tlie  puzzle — the  tlirice-tied  knot — the  deep  and  dark 

pool !  O  all  untied  and  illumin'd  ! 
O  to  speed  where  there  is  space  enough  and  air  enough 

at  last ! 
O  to  be  absolv'd  from  pre\ious  ties  and  conventions — I 

from  mine,  and  you  from  yours  ! 
O  to  find  a  new  unthought-of  nonchalance  with  the  best 

of  natujre ! 
O  to  have  the  gag  remov'd  from  one's  mouth ! 
O  to  have  the  feeling,  to-day  or  any  day,  I  am  sufficient 

as  I  am ! 

^  O  something  unprov'd  !  something  in  a  trance  ! 

O  madness  amorous  !  O  trembliug  ! 

O  to  escape  utterly  from  others'  anchors  and  holds ! 

To  drive  free  !  to  love  free  !  to  dash  reckless  and  dan- 


gerous 


To  court  destruction  with  taunts — with  invitations  ! 
To  ascend — to  ieiip  to  the  heavens  of  the  love  indicated 

to  mo ! 
To  rise  thither  vvith  my  inebriate  Soul ! 
To  be  lost,  if  it  must  be  so  ! 
To  feed  the  remainder  of  life  with  one  hour  of  fulness 

and  fi'eedom ! 
With  one  brief  hour  of  madness  and  joy. 


We  Two — How  long  We  were  Fool'd. 

We  two — how  long  we  were  fool'd ! 

Now  transmuted,  we  swiftly  escape,  as  Natui'e  escapes  ; 

We  are  Nature — long  have  we  been  absent,  but  now  we 
I'eturn  ; 

We  become  plants,  leaves,  foliage,  roots,  bark ; 

We  are  bedded  in  the  ground — v»'e  are  rocks  ; 

We  are  oaks — v/e  grow  in  the  openings  side  by  side  ; 

We  browse — we  are  two  among  the  wild  herds,  spon- 
taneous as  anv  ; 


Childkex  or  Adam.  115 

We  are  two  fislies  swimming-  in  tlie  sea  together  ; 

We  are  wliat  the  locust  blossoms  are — we  drop  scent 

around  the  lanes,  mornings  and  evenings  ; 
We   are   also   the   coarse   smut   of  beasts,  vegetables, 

mmerals  ; 
We  are  two  jtredator}^  hawks — we  soar  above,  and  look 

down  ; 
We  are  two  res^^lendent  suns — we  it  is  who  balance 

ourselves,    orbic    and    stellar — w^e    are    as    two 

comets  ; 
We  prowl  fang'd  and  foiu"- footed  in  the  woods — v,e 

spi'ing  on  prey  ; 
We  are  two  clouds,  forenoons  and  afternoons,  driving- 
overhead  ; 
We  are  seas  mingling — y<e  are  two  of  those  cheerful 

waves,  rolling  over  each  other,  and  interwetting 

each  other  ; 
We  are  what  the  atmosphere  is,  transparent,  receptive, 

pervious,  impervious  : 
We  are  snov/,  rain,  cold,  darkness — vre  are  each  product 

and  influence  of  the  globe  ; 
We  have  circled  and  circled  till  we  have  arrived  home 

again — we  two  have  ; 
Y\^e  have  voided  all  but  freedom,  and  all  but  our  own 


Out  of  the  Rolling  Ocean,  the  Crowd. 


Out  of  the  rolling  ocean,  the  crovv'd,  came  a  di-o^j  gently 

to  me, 
Wliispering,  I  love  you,  before  long  1  die, 
1  have  traveVcl  a  long  ivay,  merely  to  look  on  you,  to  touch 

you, 
For  I  could  not  die  till  I  once  looUd  on  you, 
For  Ifear'd  I  might  afterward  lose  you. 


IIG  Leaves  oy  Grass.- 


:2 


(Now  we  liave  met,  we  have  look'cl,  we  xire  safe  ;- 

Keturn  in  peace  to  the  ocean,  my  love  ; 

I  too  am  part  of  tliat  ocean,  my  love— we-  are  not  so 

much  separated ; 
Beliold  the  great  rondure — the  cohesion  of-'all,  how  per-. 

feet!       ■,    :  ;■   ■..  ^    .^  :  ;.^  ;•    /       -V^ :'^   .  ,j  / 
But  as  for  me,;for  you;  tie  irresistible,  sea  is  to  separate 

us,  :■.... 

As  for  an  hour,  carrying  us  diverse— yei_oannot  carry 

us  diverse  for  ever  ;  " 

Be  not  impatient— a  little  space-^-Know  you,;^  I  salute 

the  air,  the  ocean  and  the  land, 
Every  day,  at  sundown,  for  youi'  dear  sake,  my  lov«.)  ■ 


.Native  .Moments;  ;,.. - 

Native  moments!  when  you  come,  upon  me — Ah  you 

are  here  now!  : 

Give  me  nov/  libidinous  joys  only! 
Give  me  the  di-ench  of  my  passions!     Give  me  life 

coarse  and  rank ! 
To-day,  I  go  consort  with  nature's  darlings — to-night 

too ; 
I  am  for  those  who  believe  in  loose  delights — I  share 

the  midnight  orgies  of  young  men  ; 
I  dance  with  the  dancers,  and  drink  with  the  drinkers  ; 
The  echoes  ring  with  our  indecent  calls  ; 
I  lake  for  my  love  some  prostitute — I  pick  out  some  low 

person  for  my  dearest  fi-iend, 
He  shall  be  lawless,  rude,  illiterate — he  shall  be  one 

condemn'd  by  others  for  deeds  done  ; 
I  will  play  a  part  no  longer — Why  should  I  exile  myself 

from  my  companions  ? 

0  you  shunn'd  persons !  I  at  least  do  not  shun  you, 

1  come  forthwith  in  yoiu-  midst — I  will  be  your  poet, 
I  will  bo  more  to  you  than  to  any  of  the  rest. 


Children  of  Adam.  117 


Once  I   pass'd  through  a  Populous  City. 

Once  I  pass'd  through  a  populous  city,  imprinting  my 
brain,  for  future  use,  with  its  shows,  architec- 
ture, customs,  and  traditions  ; 

Yet  now,  of  all  that  city,  I  remember  only  a  woman  I 
casually  met  there,  who  detain'd  me  for  love  of 
me  ; 

Day  by  day  and  night  by  night  we  were  together, — All 
else  has  long  been  forgotten  by  me  ; 

i  remember,  I  say,  only  that  woman  who  passionately 
clung  to  me  ; 

Again  we  wander — we  love — we  separate  again  ; 

Again  she  holds  me  by  the  hand — I  must  not  go ! 

I  see  her  close  beside  nie,  with  silent  lips,  sad  and  trem- 
ulous. 


Facing  West  from  California's  Shores. 

Facing  west,  from  California's  shores, 

luquu'ing,  tireless,  seeking  what  is  yet  unfound, 

I,  a  child,  very  old,  over  waves,  towards  the  house  of 

maternity,  the  land  of  migrations,  IooIj;  afar. 
Look  off  the  shores  of  mj  Western  Sea — the  circle 

almost  circled ; 
For,  starting  westward  from  Hindustan,  from  the  vales 

of  Kashmere, 
From  Asia — from  the  north— from  the  God,  the  sage, 

and  the  hero. 
From  the  south — from  the  .flowery  peninsulas,  and  the 

spice  islands  ; 
Long  having  wander'd  since — round  the  earth  having 

wander'd, 
Now  I  face  home  again — ^very  pleas'd  and  joyous  ; 
(But  where  is  what  I  started  for,  so  long  ago  ? 
And  why  is  it  yet  unfonnd?) 


118  Leaves  of  Geass. 


AGES  AXD  AGES,  RETURNING  AT  INT^ERVALS. 

Ages  and  ages,  returning  at  intervals, 

Undestroy'd,  wandering  immortal, 

Lusty,  phallic,  with  the  potent  original  loius,  jDerfectly 

sweet, 
I,  chanter  of  Adamic  songs. 
Through  the  new  garden,  the  West,  the  gxeat  cities 

calling, 
Leliriate,  thus  prelude  what  is  generated,  offering  these, 

offering  myself, 
Bathing  myself,  batliiug  my  songs  in  Sex, 
Offspring  of  my  loins. 


•■i>i>fr&2>S*»— 


O  HYMEN!    O  HYMENEE ! 

O  HYMEN !  O  hymenee ! 
Why  do  you  tantalize  me  thus? 
O  why  sting  me  for  a  swift  moment  only  ? 
AVhy  can  j'ou  not  continue  ?    O  why  do  you  now  cease  ? 
Is  it  because,  if  you  continued  beyond  the  swift  mo- 
ment, you  would  soon  certainly  kill  me? 


AS  ADAM,  EAKLY  IN  THE  MOENING. 

As  Adam,  early  in  the  morning. 
Walking  forth  from  the  bower,  refresh'd  with  sleejj ; 
Behold  me  where  I  pass — hear  my  voice — approach. 
Touch  me — touch  the  palm  of  your  hand  to  my  Body 

as  I  pass  ; 
Be  not  afraid  of  my  Body. 


Childeen  of  x\dam.  119 


I  Heard  You,  Solemn-sweet  Pipes  of  the  Organ. 

I  HKARD  you,  solemn-sweet  pipes  of  the  organ,  as  last 

Sunday  morn  I  pass'cl  tlie  cburch  ; 
Winds  of  autumn  ! — as  I  walk'd  the  woods  at  dusk,  I 

heard  your  long-stretch'd   sighs,  up   above,  so 

mournful ; 
I  heard  the  perfect  Italian  tenor,  singing  at  the  opera 

— I  heard  the  soprano  in  the  midst  of  the  quartet 

singing  ; 
. . .  Heart   of  my  love  ! — you  too  I  heard,  murmuring 

low,  through  one  of  the  wrists  around  my  head ; 
Heard  the  pulse  of  you,  when  all  was  still,  ringing  little 

bells  last  night  under  my  ear. 


I  AM  HE  THAT  ACHES  WITH  LOVE. 

I  AM  he  that  aches  with  amorous  love  ; 

Does  the  earth  gravitate  ?     Does  not  all  matter,  aching, 

attract  all  matter  ? 
So  the  Body  of  me,  to  all  I  meet,  or  know. 


120  Leaves  of  Grass. 


To  Him  that  was  Crucified. 

My  spirit  to  yours,  dcnr  brother ; 

Do  not  mind  because  many,  sounding  your  name,  do 
not  understand  you  ; 

I  do  not  sound  your  name,  but  I  understand  you,  (tliere 
are  others  also  ;) 

I  specify  you  with  joy,  0  my  comrade,  to  sahite  you, 
and  to  sahite  those  who  are  with  you,  before  and 
since — and  those  to  come  also. 

That  we  all  labor  together,  transmitting  the  same 
charge  and  succession  ; 

"We  few,  equals,  indifferent  of  lands,  indifferent  of 
times  ; 

We,  enclosers  of  all  continents,  all  castes — allowers  of 
all  theologies, 

Compassionaters,  perceivers,  rapport  of  men, 

"We  walk  silent  among  disputes  and  assertions,  but 
reject  not  the  disputers,  nor  any  thing  that  is 
asserted ; 

"We  hear  the  bawling  and  ,din — we  are  reach'd  at  by 
divisions,  jealousies,  recriminations  on  every 
side. 

They  close  peremptorily  upon  us,  to  surround  us,  my 
comrade. 

Yet  v/e  walk  unheld,  free,  the  whole  earth  over,  jour- 
neying up  and  down,  till  we  make  our  inefface- 
able mark  upon  time  and  the  diverse  eras. 

Till  we  saturate  time  and  eras,  that  the  men  and  wo- 
men of  races,  ages  to  come,  may  xn'ove  brethren 
and  lovers,  as  we  are. 


Perfections. 

Only  themselves  understand  themselves,  and  the  like 

of  themselves, 
As  Souls  only  understand  Souls. 


Leaves  of  Grass. 


CALAMUS. 


In    Paths    Untrodden. 

In  paths  imtrocTclen, 

In  the  growth  hj  margins  of  poncl-waterp, 

Escaped  from  the  life  that  exhibits  itself, 

From  all  the  standards  hitherto  publish'd — from  the 

pleasures,  profits,  emditions,  conformities, 
"WTaich  too  long  I  was  ofiering  to  feed  my  sonl ; 
Clear  to  me,  now,  standards  not  yet  publish'd — clear  to 

me  that  my  Soul, 
That  the  Soul  of  the  man  I  speak  for,  feeds,  rejoices 

most  in  comrades  ; 
Here,  by  myself,  away  from  the  clank  of  the  world. 
Tallying  and  talk'd  to  here  by  tongues  aromatic, 
No  longer  abash'd — for  in  this  secluded  spot  I  can  re- 
spond as  I  Yvould  not  dare  elsewhere. 
Strong  upon  me  the  life  that  does  not  exhibit  itself,  yet 

contains  all  the  rest, 
Resolv'd  to  sing  no  songs  to-day  but  those  of  manly 

attachment. 
Projecting  them  along  that  substantial  life,- 
Bequeathing,  hence,  types  of  athletic  love. 
Afternoon,  this  delicious  Ninth-month,  in  my  forty-first 

year, 
I  proceed,  for  all  who  are,  or  have  been,  young  men, 
To  tell  the  secret  of  my  nights  and  days, 
To  celebrate  the  need  of  comrades. 
G 


122  Leaves  of  Gkass. 


Scented  Herbage  of  My  Breast. 

Scented  herbage  of  my  bi'east. 

Leaves  from  you  I  yield,  I  write,  to  be  perused  best 
afterwards, 

Tomb-leaves,  body-leaves,  growing  up  above  me,  above 
death. 

Perennial  roots,  tall  leaves — O  the  winter  shall  not 
freeze  you,  deHcate  leaves, 

Every  year  shall  you  bloom  again — Out  from  where  you 
retifed,  you  sliall  emerge  again  ; 

0  I  do  not  know  whether  many,  passing  by,  will  dis- 
cover you,  or  inhale  your  faint  odor — but  I  be- 
lieve a  few  will  ; 

O  slender  leaves !  O  blossoms  of  my  blood !  I  permit 
you  to  tell,  in  your  own  way,  of  the  heart  that 
is  under  you  ; 

O  burning  and  throbbing — surely  all  will  one  day  be 
accomplish 'd  ; 

0  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean,  there  underneath 

yourselves — you  are  not  happiness. 
You  are  often  more  bitter  than  I  can  bear — you  biu-n 

and  sting  me, 
Yet  you   are  very  beautiful    to   me,  you  faint-tinged 

roots — you  make  me  think  of  Death, 
Death  is  beautiful  from  you — (what  indeed  is  finally 

beautiful,  except  Death  and  Love  ?) 
—0  I  think  it  is  not  for  life  I  am  chanting  here  my 

chant  of  lovers — I  think  it  must  be  for  Death, 
For  how  calm,  how  solemn  it  grows,  to  ascend  to  the 

atmosphere  of  lovers. 
Death  or  life  I  am  then  indifferent — my  Soul  declines 

to  prefer, 

1  am  not  sure  but  the  high  Soul  of  lovers  welcomes 

death  most ; 

Indeed,  O  Death,  I  think  now  these  leaves  mean  pre- 
cisely the  same  as  you  mean ; 

Grow  up  taller,  sweet  leaves,  that  I  may  see !  grow  up 
out  of  my  breast ! 


Calamus.  123 

Spring  away  from  the  couceal'd  lieart  there  ! 

Do  not  fold  yourself  so  in  yonr  pink-tinged  roots,  timid 

leaves ! 
Do  not  remain  down  there  so  ashamed/  herbage  of  my 

breast ! 
Come,  I  am  determiu'd  to  unbare  this  broad  breast  of 

mine — I  have  long  enough  stifled  and  choked  : 
— Emblematic  and  capricious  blades,  I  leave  you — now 

you  serve  me  not ; 
Away !  I  will  say  what  I  have  to  say,  by  itself, 
I  will  escape  from  the  sham  that  was  projiiosed  to  me, 
I  will  sound  myself  and  comrades  only — I  will  never 

again  utter  a  call,  only  their  call, 
I  will  raise,  with  it,  immortal  reverberations  through 

The  States, 
I  will  give  an  example  to  lovers,  to  take  permanent 

shape  and  will  through  The  States  ; 
Through  me  shall  the  words   be  said  to  make  death 

exhilarating  ; 
Give  me  yoiu"  tone  therefore,  O  Death,  that  I  may  ac- 
cord with  it. 
Give  me  yourself — for  I  see  that  you  belong  to  me  now 

above  all,  and  are  folded  insej)arably  together — 

you  Love  and  Death  are  ; 
Nor  vvill  I  allow  you  to  balk  me  any  more  with  Vv'hat  I 

was  calhng  life, 
For  now  it  is  convey'd  to  me  that  you  are  the  purports 

essential, 
That  you  hide  in  these  shifting  forms  of  life,  for  reasons 

— and  that  they  are  mainly  for  you, 
That  you,  beyond  them,  come  forth,  to  remain,  the  real 

reality, 
That  behind  the  mask  of  materials  you  patiently  wait, 

no  matter  how  long, 
That  you  will  one  day,  perhaps,  take  control  of  all, 
That  you  will  perhaps  dissipate  this  entire  show  of 

appearance. 
That  may-be  you  are  what  it  is  all  for — but  it  does  not 

last  so  very  long  ; 
!6ut  you  wiU  last  very  long. 


12-1  Leaves  of  Geass. 


Whoever  you  are,  Holding  me  now  in  Hand. 

^  Whoevee  you  are,  holding  me  now  in  hand, 
"Without  one  thing,  all  will  be  useless, 
I  give  you  fair  warning,  before  you  attempt  me  further, 
I  am  not  what  you  supposed,  but  far  different. 

-  Who  is  he  that  v/ould  become  my  follower  ? 

Who  would  sign  liimself  a  candidate  for  my  affections  ? 

^  The  way  is  suspicious — the  result  uncertain,  perhaps 
destructive  ; 

You  would  have  to  give  up  all  else — I  alone  would  ex- 
pect to  be  your  God,  sole  and  exclusive, 

Your  novitiate  would  even  then  be  loilg  and  exhausting, 

The  whole  past  theory  of  your  life,  and  all  conformity 
to  the  lives  around  you,  would  have  to  ])e  aban- 
don'd  ; 

Therefore  release  me  ncv/,  before  troubling  yourself  any 
further — Let  go  jonr  hand  from  my  shoulders, 

Put  me  down,  and  depart  on  your  vray. 

*  Or  else,  by  stealth,  in  some  wood,  for  trial, 

Or  back  of  a  rock,  in  the  open  air, 

(For  in  any  roof 'd  room  of  a  house  I  emerge  no!; — nor 
in  company, 

And  in  libraries  I  lie  as  one  dumb,  a  gawk,  or  unborn, 
or  dead,) 

But  just  possibly  with  j'ou  on  a  high  hill — first  watch- 
ing lest  any  person,  for  miles  around,  approach 
imawares, 

Or  possibly  with  you  sailing  at  sea,  or  on  the  beach  of 
the  sea,  or  some  quiet  island, 

Here  to  put  your  lips  upon  mine  I  permit  you, 

Wath  the  comrade's  long-d\velling  kiss,  or  the  new  hus- 
band's kiss, 

For  I  am  the  new  husband,  and  I  am  the  comrade. 

^  Or,  if  you  will,  thrusting  me  beneath  your  clothing. 


Calamus,  125 

"Where  I  may  feel  the  throbs  of  j-our  heart,  or  rest  upon 

yoiu-  hip, 
Carry  me  when  you  go  forth  over  land  or  sea  ; 
For  thus,  merely  touching  you,  is  enough— is  best. 
And  thus,  touching  you,  would  I  silently  sleep  and  be 

carried  eternally. 

®  But  these  leave's  conning,  you  con  at  peril. 

For  these  leaves,  and  me,  you  will  not  understand. 

They  will  elude  you  at  first,  and  still  more  afterward — 

I  will  certainly  elude  yon. 
Even  while  you  should  think  you  had  unquestionably 

caught  me,  behold  ! 
Already  you  see  I  have  escaped  from  you. 

'  For  it  is  not  for  what  I  have  put  into  it  that  I  have 

v/ritten  this  book. 
Nor  is  it  by  reading  it  you  will  acquire  it, 
Nor  do  those  know  me  best  who  admire  me,  and  vaunt- 

iugly  praise  me, 
Nor  wiU  the  candidates  for  my  love,  (unless  at  most  a 

very  few,)  prove  victorious. 
Nor  will  my  poems  do  good  only — they  will  do  just  as 

much  evil,  perhaps  more  ; 
For  all  is  useless  v/ithout  that  which  you  may  guess  at 

many  times  and  not  hit — that  v/hich  I  hinted  at ; 
Therefore  release  me,  and  depart  on  your  way. 


lAWyWAA/w. — . 


These  I,  Singing  in  Spring. 

These,  I,  singing  in  spring,  collect  for  lovers, 

(For  who  but  I  should  understand  lovers,  and  all  their 

sorrow  and  joy  ? 
And  who  but  I  should  be  the  poet  of  comrades  ?) 
Collecting,  I  traverse  the  garden,  the  v/orld — but  soon 

I  pass  the  gates. 


123  Leaves  of  Grass. 

Now  along  tlie  pond-side — now  wading  in  a  little,  fear- 
ing not  tlie  wet, 

Now  by  the  post-and-rail  fences,  where  the  old  stones 
thrown  there,  pick'd  from  the  fields,  have  accu- 
mulated, 

(Wild-flowers  and  vines  and  weeds  come  up  through 
the  stones,  and  partly  cover  them — Beyond  these 
I  pass,) 

Far,  far  in  the  forest,  before  I  think  whore  T  go. 

Solitary,  smelling  the  earthy  smell,  stopping  now  and 
then  in  the  silence, 

Alone  I  had  thought — yet  soon  a  troop  gathers  around 
me, 

Some  walk  by  my  side,  and  some  behind,  and  some  em- 
brace my  arms  or  neck. 

They,  the  spirits  of  dear  friends,  dead  or  alive — thicker 
they  come,  a  great  crowd,  and  I  in  the  middle. 

Collecting,  dispensing,  singing  in  spring,  there  I  wander 
with  them. 

Plucking  something  for  tokens — tossing  tov^-ard  vv'hoever 
is  near  me  ; 

Here  !  lilas,  with  a  branch  of  pine. 

Here,  out  of  my  pocket,  some  moss  which  I  pnll'd  off  a 
live-oak  in  Florida,  as  it  hung  trailing  down. 

Here,  some  pinks  and  laurel  leaves,  and  a  handful  of 
sag-e. 

And  here  v/hat  I  now  dravv^  from  the  water,  wading  in 
the  pond-side, 

(O  here  I  last  saw  him  that  tenderly  loves  me — and  re- 
turns again,  never  to  separate  from  me. 

And  this,  O  this  shall  henceforth  be  the  token  of  com- 
rades— this  Calamus-root  shall. 

Interchange  it,  youths,  with  each  other!  Let  none 
render  it  back!) 

And  twigs  of  maple,  and  a  bunch  of  wild  orange,  and 
chestnut. 

And  stems  of  currants,  and  plum -blows,  and  the  aro- 
matic cedar  : 

These,  I,  compass'd  around  by  a  thick  cloud  of  spirits. 

Wandering,  point  to,  or  touch  as  I  pass,  or  throw  them 
loosely  from  me, 


Calamus.  127 

Indicating  to  eacli  one  what  lie  sliall  have — giving  some- 
tliing  to  each  ; 

But  what  I  drew  from  the  water  by  the  pond-side,  that 
I  reserve, 

I  will  give  of  it — but  only  to  them  that  love,  as  I  my- 
self am  capable  of  loving. 


A  Song, 


Come,  I  will  make  the  continent  indissoluble  ; 

I  will  make  the  most  sjilendid  race  the  sun  ever  yet 

shone  upon  ; 
I  will  make  divine  magnetic  lands,  ,»v 

With  the  love  of  comrades. 

With  the  life-lonff  love  of  comrades. 


I  will  plant  companionship  thick  as  trees  along  all  the 
rivers  of  America,  and  along  the  shores  of  the 
great  lakes,  and  all  over  the  prairies  ; 
I  will  make  inseparable   cities,  Vtdth  their  arms  about 
each  other's  necks  ; 

By  the  love  of  comrades. 

By  the  manly  ]ove  of  comrades. 


For  you  these,  from  me,  O  Democracy,  to  serve  you, 

ma  femme ! 
I'or  you  !  for  you,  I  am  trilling  these  songs, 
In  the  love  of  comrades, 

In  the  high-tov/ering  love  of  comrades. 


128  Leaves  of  Grass. 


Not  Heaving  from  my  Ribb'd  Breast  only. 

Not  lieaymg  from  my  ribb'd  breast  only ; 

Not  in  sighs  at  night,  in  rage,  dissatisfied  "vrith  myself  ; 

Not  in  those  long-drawn,  iU-supprest  sighs  ; 

Not  in  many  an  oath  and  promise  broken  ; 

Not  in  my  wilful  and  savage  soul's  volition  ; 

Not  in  the  subtle  nourishment  of  the  air ; 

Not  in  this  beatiug  and  pounding  at  my  temples  and 

wrists ; 
Not  in  the  curious  systole  and  diastole  within,  v/hich 

Vr'ill  one  day  cease  ; 
Not  in  many  a  hungry  wish,  told  to  the  sties  only  ; 
Not  in  cries,  laughter,  defiances,  thrown  from  me  when 

alone,  fur  in  the  wilds  ; 
Not  in  husky  pantmgs  through  clench'd  teeth  ; 
Not  in  sounded  and  resounded,  words — chattering  words, 

echoes,  dead  words  ; 
Not  in  the  murmurs  of  my  dreams  while  I  sleep, 
Nor  the  other  murmurs  of  these  incredible  dreams  of 

everyday; 
Nor  in  the  limbs  and  senses  of  my  body,  that  take  you 

and  dismiss  you  continually — Not  there  ; 
Not  in  any  or  all- of  them,  O  adhesiveness!  O  pulse  of 

my  life ! 
Need  I  that  you  exist  and  show  yourself,  any  more  than 

in  these  song's. 


Of  the  Terrible  Doubt  of  Appearances. 

Of  the  terrible  doubt  of  appearances, 

Of  the  uncertainty  after  all — that  vre  may  be  deluded, 

That  may-be  reliance   and  hope  are  but  speculations 

after  all, 
Tliat  may-be  identity  beyond  the  grave  is  a  beautiful 

fable  only, 


Calajics.  129 

May-be  the  tilings  I  perceive — the  animals,  plants,  men, 
hills,  shining  and  flowing  waters. 

The  skies  of  day  and  night — colors,  densities,  forms — 
May-be  these  nrq,  (as  doubtless  they  are,)  only 
apparitions,  and  the  real  something  has  yet  to  be 
known  ; 

(How  often  they  dart  out  of  themselves,  as  if  to  con- 
found me  and  mock  me ! 

How  often  I  tliinli  neither  I  know,  nor  any  man  knoAvs, 
aught  of  them  ;) 

May -be  seeming  to  me  wdiat  they  are,  (as  doubtless  they 
indeed  but  seem^)  as  from  my  present  point  of 
view — And  might  prove,  (as  of  course  they 
would,)  naught  of  what  they  appear,  or  naught 
any  how,  fi'om  entirely  changed  points  of  vievv^ ; 

— To  me,  these,  and  the  like  of  these,  are  curiously  an- 
swer'd  by  my  lovers,  my  dear  friends  ; 

"\Mien  he  whom  I  love  travels  with  me,  or  sits  a  long 
while  holding  me  by  the  hand, 

Allien  the  subtle  air,  the  impalpable,  the  sense  that 
words  and  reason  hold  not,  surround  us  and 
pervade  us. 

Then  I  am  charged  with  untold  and  untellable  wisdom. 
— I  am  silent — I  require  nothing  further, 

I  cannot  answer  the  question  of  appearances,  or  that 
of  identity  beyond  the  grave  ; 

But  I  walk  or  sit  indifferent — I  am  satisfied. 

He  ahold  of  my  hand  has  completely  satisfied  me. 


The  Base  of  all  Metaphysics. 

'  And  now,  gentlemen, 

A  word  I  give  to  remain  in  your  memories  and  minds, 

As  base,  and  finale  too,  for  all  metaphysics. 

"  (So,  to  the  students,  the  old  professor, 
At  the  close  of  his  crov/ded  course.) 


139  Le-vveo  of  Grass. 

^  Having  studied  the  new  and  antique,  the  Greek  and 

Germanic  systems, 
Kant  having  studied  and  stated — Fichte  and  Schelhng 

and  Hegel, 
Stated  the  lore  of   Plato — and  Socrates,  greater  than 

Plato, 
And  greater  than  Socrates  sought  and  stated — Christ 

divine  having  studied  long, 
I  see  reminiscent  to-day  those  Greek  and  Germanic 

systems, 
See  the  philosophies  all — Christian  churches  and  tenets 

see. 
Yet  underneath   Socrates  clearly  see — and  underneath 

Clnist  the  divine  I  see, 
The  dear  love  of  man  for  his  comrade — the  attraction 

of  friend  to  friend. 
Of  the  well-married  husband  and  wife — of  children  and 

parents, 
Of  city  for  city,  and  land  for  land. 


Recorders   Ages  Hence. 

Recorders  ages  hence ! 

Come,  I  will  take  you  down  underneath  this  impassive 
exterior — I  will  tell  you  Vv4iat  to  say  of  me  ; 

Publish  my  name  and  hang  up  my  picture  as  that  of 
the  tenderest  lover, 

The  friend,  the  lover's  portrait,  of  whom  his  friend,  his 
lover,  was  fondest, 

Who  was  not  proud  of  his  songs,  but  of  the  measure- 
less ocean  of  love  within  him — and  freely  pour'd 
it  forth, 

"Who  often  walk'd  lonesome  walks,  thinking  of  his  dear 
fi'iends,  his  lovers. 

Who  pensive,  away  from  one  he  lov'd,  often  lay  sleep- 
less and  dissatisfied  at  night. 


Calamus.  131 

Who  knew  too  vrell  the  sict,  sick  dread  lest  tlie  one  lie 
lov'd  miglit  secretly  be  indifferent  to  liim, 

Whose  happiest  days  were  far  away,  through  fields,  in 
woods,  on  hills,  he  and  another,  wandering  hand 
in  hand,  they  twain,  apart  from  other  men. 

Who  oft  as  he  saunter'd  the  streets,  curv'd  with  his 
arm  the  shoulder  of  his  friend — y/hile  the  arm 
of  his  friend  rested  ui:>on  him  also. 


WHEN  I  HEAKD  AT  THE  CLOSE  OF  THE  DAY. 

When  I  heard  at  the  close  of  the  day  how  my  name 
had  been  receiv'd  with  plaudits  in  the  capitol, 
still  it  was  not  a  happy  night  for  me  that  fol- 
low'd  ; 

And  else,  when  I  carous'd,  or  when  my  plans  were 
accomplish'd,  still  I  was  not  happy  ; 

But  the  day  when  I  rose  at  dawn  from  the  bed  of  per- 
fect health,  refresh'd,  singing,  inhaling  the  ripe 
breath  of  autumn, 

When  I  saw  the  full  moon  in  the  >\-est  grow  pale  and 
disappear  in  the  morning  light. 

When  I  wander'd  alone  over  the  beach,  and  undress- 
ing, bathed,  laughing  with  the  cool  Vv^aters,  and 
savf  the  sun  rise. 

And  when  I  thought  how  my  dear  friend,  my  lover,  was 
on  his  way  coming,  O  then  I  was  happy  ; 

0  then  each  breath  tasted  sweeter — and  all  that  day  my 

food  nourish'd  me  more— and  the  beautiful  day 

pass'd  well. 
And  the  next  came  with  equal  joy — and  with  the  next, 

at  evening,  came  my  friend  ; 
And  that  night,  while  all  was  still,  I  heard  the  waters 

roll  slowly  continually  up  the  shores, 

1  heard  the  hissing  rustle  of  the  liquid  and  sands,  as 

directed  to  me,  whispering,  to  congratulate  me. 


t-o 


132  Leaves  of  Gkass. 

For  tlie  one  I  lovo  most  lay  sleeping  by  me  under  tli 

same  cover  in  the  cool  night, 
la  the  stillness,  in  the  autumn  moonbeams,  his  face  vf 

inclined  toward  me, 
And  his  arm  lay  ligLtly  around  my  breast— and  that 

night  I  was  happy. 


Are  You  the  Is'ew  Person  drawn  toward  Me? 

Aee  you  the  nev/  person  drawn  toward  me? 

To  begin  with,  take  vv^arning — I  am  surely  far  difierent 

from  what  you  suppose  ; 
Do  you  suppose  you  v/ill  lind  in  me  your  ideal  ? 
Do  you  think  it  so  easy  to  have  me  become  your  lover? 
Do  you  think  the  friendship  of  me  would  be  unalloy'd 

satisfaction  ? 
Do  you  think  I  am  trusty  and  faithful  ? 
Do  you  see  no  further  than  this  facade — this  smooth 

and  tolerant  manner  of  me  ? 
Do  you  suppose  yourself  advancing  on  real  ground  to- 

v.'ard  a  real  heroic  man  ? 
Have  yoti  no  thought,  O  dreamer,  that  it  may  be  all 

maya,  illusion  ? 


Roots  and  Leaves  Themselves  Alone, 

Roots  and  leaves  themselves  alone  are  these  ; 

Scents  brought  to  men  and  women  from  the  wild  woods, 

and  from  the  pond-side, 
Breast-sorrel    and   jDinks   of    love — fingers    that   wind 

around  tighter  than  vines. 
Gushes  from  the  throats  of  birds,  hid  in  the  foliage  of 

trees,  as  the  sun  is  risen  : 


Calaimuj..  133 

Breezes   of    land   and   love — breezes    set    from    living 

shores  out  to  you  on  tlie  living  sea — to  you,  O 

sailors ! 
E'rost-mellow'd  berries,  and  Third-month  tvv'igs,  ofier'd 

fresh  to  young  joersons   wandering  cut  in  the 

fields  when  the  winter  breaks  up. 
Love-buds,  put  before  you  and  within  you,  whoever  you 

are. 
Buds  to  bo  unfolded  on  the  old  terms  ; 
If  3-0U  bring  the  warmth  of  the  sun  to  them,  they  will 

open,  and  bring  form,  color,  perfume,  to  you  ; 
If  you  become  the  aliment  and  the  v/et,  they  will  iDecome 

flowers,  fruits,  tall  branches  and  trees. 


Not  Fleat  Flames  up  and  Consumes. 

Not  heat  flames  up  and  consumes. 

Not  sea-waves  hurry  in  and  out. 

Not  the  air,  delicious  and  dry,  the  air  of  the  ripe  sum- 
mer, bears  lightly  along  white  down-balls  of 
myriads  of  seeds, 

"Wafted,  sailing  gracefully,  to  drop  where  they  may  ; 

Not  these— O  none  of  these,  more  than  the  flames  of 
me,  consuming,  bui'ning  for  his  love  whom  I  love ! 

O  none,  more  than  I,  hurrying  in  and  out  : 

— Does  the  tide  hurry,  seeking  something,  and  never 
give  up  ?     0  1  the  same  ; 

O  nor  dowu-baUs,  nor  perfumes,  nor  the  high,  rain- 
emitting  clouds,  are  borne  through  the  open  air, 

Any  more  than  my  Soul  is  borne  through  the  open 
air, 

Wafted  in  all  directions,  O  love,  for  friendship,  for 
you. 


134  Leaves  of  Grass. 


Trickle,   Drops. 


Trickle,  drops!  my  blue  veins  leaving! 

O  drops  of  me !  trickle,  slow  droj)s, 

Candid,  from  me  falling- — drij),  bleeding  drops, 

From   wounds   made   to   free  you  whence  you   were 

prison'd. 
From  my  face — from  my  forehead  and  lips. 
From  my  breast — from  within  where  I  vvas  conceal' d — 

press  forth,  red  drops — confession  drojDS  ; 
Stain  every  page — stain  every  song  I  sing,  every  word 

I  say,  bloody  drops  ; 
Let  them  know  youi'  scarlet  heat — let  them  glisten  ; 
Saturate  theai  with  youi'self,  all  ashamed  and  wet ; 
Glow  upon  all  I  have  written,  or  shall  Vv^rite,  bleeding 

drops ; 
Let  it  all  be  seen  in  your  light,  blushing  drops. 


City  of  Oro;ies. 


City  of  orgies,  walks  and  joys ! 

City  whom  that  I  have  lived  and  sung  in  your  midst 

will  one  day  make  you  illustrious. 
Not  the  j)ageants  of  you — not  your  shifting  tableaux, 

youi'  spectacles,  repay  me  ; 
Not  the  interminable   rows  of  your  houses — nor   the 

shij)s  at  the  v/harves. 
Nor  the  processions  in  the  streets,  nor  the  bright  win- 

dov/s,  with  goods  in  them  ; 
Nor  to  converse  with  learn'd  persons,  or  bear  my  share 

in  the  soiree  or  feast ; 
Not  those — but,  as  I  pass,  O  Manhattan !  your  frequent 

and  swift  flash  of  eyes  offering  me  love. 
Offering  response  to  my  own — these  repay  me  ; 
Lovers,  continual  lovers,  only  repay  mo. 


Calamus.  135 

Behold  this  Swarthy  Face. 

Behold  this  swartliy  face — these  gray  eyes, 

This  beard — the  white  v/ool,  unclipt  upon  my  neck, 

My  brown  hands,  and  the  silent  manner  of  me,  without 

charm ; 
Yet  comes  one,  a  Manhattan ese,  and  ever  at  parting, 

kisses  me  hghtly  on  the  lips  with  robust  love, 
x\nd  I,  on  the  crossing  of  the  sti'eet,  or  on  the  ship's 

deck,  give  a  kiss  in  retiu'n  ; 
"VVe  observe  that  salute  of  American  comrades,  land  and 

sea, 
"We  are  those  two  natural  and  nonchalant  persons. 


-•»d3^  S>2'0«'^— 


I  saw  in  Louisiana  a  Live-Oak  Growing. 

I  SAW  in  Louisiana  a  Hve-oak  growing, 

All  alone  stood  it,  and  the  moss  hung  down  from  the 

branches ; 
Without  any  companion  it  grew  there,  uttering  joyous 

leaves  of  dark  green. 
And  its  look,  rude,  unbending,  lusty,  made  me  think  of 

myself ; 
But  I  wonder'd  how  it  could  utter  joyous  leaves,  stand- 
ing alone  there,  without  its  friend,  its  lover  near 

— for  I  knew  I  could  not ; 
And  I  broke  oft"  a  twig  with  a  certain  number  of  leaves 

upon  it,  and  twined  around  it  a  little  moss. 
And  brought  it  away — and  I  have  placed  it  in  sight  in 

my  room  ; 
It  is  not  needed  to  remind  me  as  of  my  own  dear  friends, 
(For  I  believe  lately  I  think  of  little  else  than  of  them  ;) 
Yet  it  remains  to  me  a  curious  token — it  makes  me 

think  of  manly  love  ; 
For  all  that,  and  though  the  live-oak  glistens  there  in 

Louisiana,  solitary,  in  a  wide  flat  space. 
Uttering  joyous  leaves  all  its  life,  without  a  friend,  a 

lo\er,  near, 
I  know  very  well  I  could  not.   , 


13G  Leaves  of  Geass. 


TO  A  STRANGER. 

pAssiNa  stranger!   you  do  not  know  how  longingly  I 

look  npon  you, 
You  must  be  be  I  was  seeking,  or  slie  I  was  seeking,  (it 

comes  to  me,  as  of  a  clream,) 
I  liave  somewhere  surely  lived  a  life  of  joy  with  you. 
All  is  recall'd  as  Vv^e  flit  by  each  other,  fluid,  afl'ectionatc, 

chaste,  matured, 
You  grew  up  Vv'ith  me,  were   a  boy  with  me,  or  a  girl 

with  me, 
I  ate  with  you,  and  slept  with  you — ^your  body  has  be- 
come not  3'ours  only,  nor  left  my  body  mine  only, 
You  give  me  the  pleasure  of  your  eyes,  face,  flesh,  as 

vie  pass — you  take  of  my  beard,  breast,  hands, 

in  return, 
I  am  not  to  speak  to  you — I  am  to  think  of  you  when  I 

sit  alone,  or  wake  at  night  alone, 
I  am  to  wait — I  do  not  doubt  I  am  to  meet  you  again, 
I  am  to  see  to  it  that  I  do  not  lose  you. 


This  Moment,  Yearning  and  Thoughtful. 

This  moment  yearning  and  thoughtful,  sitting  alone, 
It  seems  to  me  there  are  other  men  in  other  lands, 

yearning-  and  thoughtful ; 
It  seems  to  me  I  can  look  over  and  behold  them,  in 

Germany,  Italy,  France,  Spain — or  far,  far  away, 

in  China,  or  in  Russia  or  India — talking  other 

dialects  ; 
And  it  seems  to  me  if  I  could  know  those  men,  I  should 

become  attached  to  them,  as  I  do  to  men  in  my 

OAvn  lands  ; 

0  I  know  we  should  be  brethren  and  lovers, 

1  know  I  should  bo  happy  with  Ihsm. 


Calamus.  137 


I  Hear  it  was  Charged  Against  Me. 

I  HiLVR  it  was'cliarged  against  me  that  I  sought  to  de- 
stroy institutions  ; 

But  really  I  am  neither  for  nor  against  institutions  ; 

(What  indeed  have  I  in  common  with  them  ? — Or  what 
with  the  destruction  of  them  ?) 

Only  I  will  establish  in  the  Mannahatta,  and  in  every 
city  of  These  States,  inland  and  seaboard, 

And  in  the  fields  and  woods,  and  above  every  keel, 
little  or  large,  that  dents  the  water. 

Without  edifices,  or  rules,  or  trustees,  or  any  argu- 
ment. 

The  institution  of  the  dear  love  of  comrades. 


The  Prairie-Grass  Dividing. 

The  prairie-grass  dividing — its  special  odor  breathing, 

I  demand  of  it  the  spiritual  corresponding. 

Demand  the  most  copiou!^  and  close  companionship  of 
men, 

Demand  the  blades  to  rise  of  vrords,  acts,  beings. 

Those  of  the  open  atmosphere,  coarse,  sunlit,  frcoh, 
nutritious, 

Those  that  go  their  own  gait,  erect,  stepping  with  free- 
dom and  command — leading,  not  following. 

Those  with  a  never-quell'd  audacity — those  with  svrcet 
and  lusty  fiesh,  clear  of  taint, 

Tliose  that  look  carelessly  in  the  faces  of  Presidents 
and  Governors,  as  to  say.  Who  are  yoic  ? 

Those  of  earth-born  passion,  simple,  never-coustrain'd, 
never  obedient. 

Those  of  inland  America. 


138  Leaye3  of  Gkass. 


We  Two  Boys  Together  Clinging. 

We  two  boys  together  clinging, 

One  the  other  never  leaving, 

Uj)  and  down  the  roads  going — North  and  Sonth  excur- 
sions making, 

Power  enjoying — elbows  stretcliing — fingers  clutching, 

Arm'd  and  fearless — eating,  drinking,  sleeping,  loving, 

No  law  less  than  ourselves  owning — sailing,  soldiering, 
thieving,  threatening, 

Misers,  menials,  priests  alarming — air  breathing,  water 
drinking,  on  the  turf  or  the  sea-beach  dancing, 

Cities  wa-enchiug,  ease  scorning,  statutes  mocking,  fee- 
bleness chasing. 

Fulfilling  our  foray. 


A  Promise  to  California. 

A  PROMISE  to  California, 

Also  to  the  great  Pastoral  Plains,  and  for  Oregon  : 

Sojourning  east  a  whOe  longer,  soon  I  travel  toward 

you,  to  remain,  to  teach  robust  American  love  ; 
For  I  know  very  well  that  I  and  robust  love  belong 

among  you,  inland,  and  along  the  Western  Sea  ; 
For  These  States  tend  inland,  and  toward  tlio  Western 

Sea — and  I  will  also. 


Here  the  Frailest  Leaves  of  Me. 

Here  the  frailest  leaves  of  me,  and  yet  niy  strongest- 
lasting  : 

Here  I  shade  and  hide  my  thoTiglits — I  myself  do  not 
expose  them. 

And  yet  they  expose  mc  more  than  all  my  other  poems. 


Calamus.  139 


When  I   Peruse  the  Conquer'd  Fame. 

When  I  peruse  the  conquer'd  fame  of  heroes,  and  the 

victories  of  mighty  generals,  I  do  not  envy  the 

generals, 
Nor  the  President  in  his  Presidency,  nor  the  rich  in  his 

great  house  ; 
But  when  I  hear  of  the  brotherhood  of  lovers,  how  it 

was  with  them, 
How  through  life,  through  dangers,  odium,  unchanging, 

long  and  long. 
Through  yoiith,  and  through  middle  and  old  age,  how 

unfaltering,  how  affectionate  and  faithful   they 

were, 
Then  I  am  pensive — I  hastily  walk  away,  fill'd  with  the 

bitterest  envy. 


What  Think  You  I  take  my  Pen  in  Hand? 

What  think  you  I  take  my  pen  in  hand  to  record  ? 

The  battle-ship,  perfect-model'd,  majestic,  that  I  saw 
pass  the  ofiing  to-day  under  full  sail  ? 

The  splendors  of  the  past  day  ?  Or  the  splendor  of  the 
night  that  envelops  me  ? 

Or  the  vaunted  glory  and  growth  of  the  great  city 
sj)read  around  me  ? — No  ; 

But  I  record  of  two  simple  men  I  saw  to-day,  on  the 
pier,  in  the  midst  of.  the  crowd,  parting  the  part- 
ing of  dear  friends  ; 

The  one  to  remain  hung  on  the  other's  neck,  and  pas- 
sionately kisss'd  him. 

While  the  one  to  depart,  tightly  prest  the  one  to  remain 
in  his  arms. 


140  Leaves  of  Geass. 


A  Glimpse. 


A  GLIMPSE,  tiirougii  an  interstice  caught, 

Of  a  crowd  of  workmen  and  drivers  in  a  bar-room, 
around  tlie  stove,  late  of  a  winter  niglit — And  I 
nnremark'd,  seated  in  a  corner  ; 

Of  a  youtli  who  loves  me,  and  whom  I  love,  silently  ap- 
proaching, and  seating  himself  near,  that  he  may 
hold  me  by  the  hand  ; 

A  long  while,  amid  the  noises  of  coming  and  going — of 
drinking  and  oath  and  smutty  jest. 

There  we  two,  content,  happy  in  being  together,  speak- 
ing little,  perhaps  not  a  word. 


No  Labor-Saving  Machine. 

No  labor-saving  machine. 
Nor  discovery  have  I  made  ; 

Nor  xnll  I  be  able  to  leave  behind  me  any  wealthy  be- 
quest to  found  a  hospital  or  library, 
/  Nor  reminiscence  of  any  deed  of  courage,  for  America, 
/   Nor  literary  success,  nor  intellect — nor  book  for  the 
book-shelf  ; 
Only  a  fev/  carols,  vibrating  through  the  air,  I  h  ave. 
For  comrades  and  lovers. 


A  LEx\F  FOE  HAND  IN  HAND. 

A  Leaf  for  hand  in  hand! 

You  natural  persons  old  and  j^onng ! 

You  on  the  Mississippi,  and  on  all  the  branches  and 
bayous  of  the  Mississippi ! 

You  friendly  boatmen  and  mechanics !     You  roughs ! 

You  twain!  And  all  processions  moving  a,long  the 
streets ! 

I  v/ish  to  infuse  myself  among  you  till  I  see  it  com- 
mon for  you  to  walli  hand  in  hand  ! 


Calamus.  141 


TO   THE   EAST   AND   TO    THE    \¥EST. 

To  the  East  and  to  the  West  ; 

To  the  man  of  the  Seaside  State,  and  of  Pennsylvania, 

To  the  Kauadiau  of  the  North — to  the  Southerner  I 
loYe  ; 

These,  with  perfect  trust,  to  depict  you  as  rnyself — 
the  germs  are  in  all  men  ; 

I  believe  the  main  purport  of  These  States  is  to  found 
a  superb  friendship,  exalte,  previously  unknown, 

Because  I  perceive  it  waits,  and  has  been  always  wait- 
ing, latent  in  all  men. 


Earth  !    My    Likeness  ! 

Eakth  !  my  likeness ! 

Though  you   look   so   impassive,    ample   and   spheric 

there, 
I  now  suspect  that  is  not  all ; 
I  now  suspect  there  is  something  fierce  in  you,  eligible 

to  burst  forth  ; 
For  an  athlete  is  enamour'd  of  me — and  I  of  him  ; 
But  toward  him  there  is  something  fierce  and  terrible 

in  me,  eligible  to  burst  forth, 
I  dare  not  tell  it  in  words-^not  even  in  these  songs. 


I  DREAM'D  IN  A  DREAM. 

I  deeam'd  in  a  dream,  I  saw  a  city  invincible  to  the 
attacks  of  the  whole  of  the  rest  of  the  earth  ; 

I  dream'd  that  was  the  new  City  of  Fi-iends  ; 

Nothing  was  greater  there  than  the  quality  of  robust 
love — it  led  the  rest  ; 

It  was  seen  every  hour  in  the  actions  of  the  men  of 
thcat  city, 

And  in  all  their  looks  and  words. 


142  Leaves  of  Grass. 


FAST  ANCHOK-D,   El^EENAL,   0   LOVE! 

Fast-anchor'd,  eternal,  O  love !  O  womau  I  love ! 

0  bride !  O  wife !  more  resistless  than  I  can  tell,  the 

thought  of  you ! 
— Then  sej^arate,  as  clisembodied,  or  another  born, 
Ethereal,  the  last  athletic  reality,  my  consolation  ; 

1  ascend — I  float  in  the  regions  of  your  love,  O  man, 
O  sharer  of  my  roving  life. 


Sometimes  with  One  I  Love. 

Sometimes  with  one  I  love,  I  fill  myself  with  rage,  for 

fear  I  effuse  unreturn'd  love  ; 
But  now  I  think  there  is  no  unreturn'd  love — the  pay 

is  certain,  one  way  or  another  ; 
(I  loved  a  certain  person  ardently,  and  ray  love  was 

not  return'd  ; 
Yet  out  of  that,  I  have  written  these  songs.) 


That  Shadow,  my  Likeness. 

That  shadow,  my  likeness,  that  goes  to  and  fi'o,  seek- 
ing a  livelihood,  chattering,  chaffering  ; 
How  often  I  find   myself  standing  and  looking  at  it 

where  it  flits  ; 
How  often  I  question  and  doubt  whether  that  is  really 

me  ; 
— But  in  these,  and  among  my  lovers,  and  caroling  my 

songs, 
O  I  never  doubt  whether  that  is  really  me. 


Calamus.  143 


AMONG  THE  MULTITUDE. 

'   Among  tlie  men  and  -women,  tlie  multitude, 

I  perceive  one  picking  me  out  by  secret  and   divine 

signs, 
Acknowledging  none  else — not  parent,  wife,  liusband, 

brother,  child,  any  nearer  than  I  am  ; 
Some  are  baffled — But  that  one  is  not — that  one  knows 

me. 

^  Ah,  lover  and  perfect  equal ! 

I  meant  that  you  should  discover  me  so,  by  my  faint 

indirections  ; 
And  I,  when  I  meet  you,  mean  to  discover  you  by  the 

like  in  you. 


TO  A  WESTERN  BOY. 

O  EOT  of  the  West ! 

To  you  many  things   to  absorb,  I  teach,  to  help  you 

become  eleve  of  mine  : 
Yet  if  blood  like  mine  circle  not  in  your  veins  ; 
If  you  be  not  silently  selected  by  lovers,   and  do  not 

silently  select  lovers, 
Of  what  use  is  it  that  you  seek  to  become  eleve  of  mine  ? 


O  YOU  WHOM  I  Often  and  Silently  Come. 

0  YOU  whom  I  often  and  silently  come  where  you  are, 

that  I  may  be  with  you  ; 
As  I  walk  by  your  side,  or  sit  near,  or  remain  in  the 

same  room  with  you. 
Little  you  know  the  subtle  electric  fire  that  for  your 

sake  is  playing  within  me. 


144  Leaves  of  Grass. 


Full  of  Life^  Now. 

'  Full  of  life,  now,  compact,  visible, 

I,  forty  years  old  the  Eighty-third  Year  of  The  States, 

To  one  a  century  hence,  or  any  number  of  centuries 

hence. 
To  you,  yet  unborn,  these,  seeking  you. 

^  When  you  read  these,  I,  that  was  visible,  am  become 

invisible  ; 
Now  it  is  you,  compact,  visible,  realizing  my  poems, 

seeking  me  ; 
Fancying  how  happy  you  were,  if  I  could  be  with  you, 

and  become  your  comrade  ; 
Be  it  as  if  I  were  with  3'ou.     (Be  not  too  certain  but  I 

am  now  with  you.) 


Leaves  of  Grass. 


SALUT    AU    MONDE! 


'  O  TAKE  my  liand,  Walt  Whitman  ! 
Such  gliding  wonders  !  such  sights  and  sounds  ! 
Such  join'd  unended  links,  each  hook'd  to  the  next ! 
Each  answering  all — each  sharing  the  earth  with  all. 

-  What  widens  within  you,  Walt  Whitman  ? 

What  waves  and  soils  exuding  ? 

W^h-at  climes  ?  what  persons  and  lands  are  here  ? 

Who  are  the  infants  ?  some  playing,  some  slumbering? 

Who  are  the  girls  ?  who  are  the  married  women  ? 

Who  are  the  groups  of  old  men  going  slowly  with  their 

arms  about  each  other's  necks  '? 
What  rivers   are   these  ?   what  forests  and  fruits  are 

these  ? 
What  are  the  mountains  call'd  that  rise  so  high  in  the 

mists  ? 
What  myriads  of  dwellings  are  they,  fiU'd  with  dwellers  ? 


^  Within  me  latitude  widens,  longitude  lengthens  ; 

Asia,  Africa,  Europe,  are  to  the  east — Ameiica  is  pro- 
vided for  in  the  west ; 

Banding  the  bulge  of  the  earth  winds  the  hot  equator, 

Curiously  north  and  south  turn  the  axis-ends  ; 

Within  me  is  the  longest  day — the  sun  vvheels  in  slant- 
ing rings— it  does  not  set  for  months  ; 
7 


140  Leavks  of  Grass. 

Stretcli'cl  in  duo  time  witliin  me  the  midnight  sun  just 
rises  above  the  horizon,  and  sinks  again  ; 

Within  me  zones,  seas,  cataracts,  plants,  volcanoes, 
groups, 

Malaysia,  Polynesia,  and  the  great  West  Indian  islands. 

3 

'  What  do  you  hear,  Walt  Whitman  ? 

°  I  hear  the  workman  singing,  and  the  farmer's  vrife 

singing  ; 
I  hear  in  the  distance  the  sounds  of  children,  and  of 

animals  early  in  the  day  ; 
I  hear  quick  rifle-cracks  from  the  riflemen  of  East  Ten- 
nessee and  Kentucky,  hunting  on  hills  ; 
I  hear  emulous  shouts  of  Australians,  pursuing  the  ^yild 

horse  ; 
I  hear  the  Spanish  dance,  with  castanets,  in  the  chestnut 

shade,  to  the  rebeck  and  guitar  ; 
I  hear  continual  echoes  from  the  Thames  ; 
I  hear  fierce  French  hberty  songs  ; 
I  hear  of  the  Italian  boat-sculler  ihe  musical  recitative 

of  old  poems  ; 
I  hear  the  Virginia  plantation-chorus  of  negroes,  of  a 

harvest  night,  in  the  glare  of  pine-knots  ; 
I  hear  the  strong  baritone  of  the  'loDg-sh ore-men  of 

Mannahatta  ; 
I  hear  the  stevedores  unlading  the  cargoes,  aud  singing ; 
I  hear  the  screams  of  the  water-fowl  of  solitary  north- 
west lakes  ; 
I  hear  tbe  rustling  pattering  of  locusts,  as  they  strike 

the  grain  and  gi'ass  with  the  showers  of  their 

terrible  clouds  ; 
I  hear  the  Coptic  refrain,  toward  sundown,  pensively 

falling  on  the  breast  of  the  black  venerable  vast 

mothei',  the  Nile  ; 
I  hear  the   bugles  of   raft-tenders  on  the  streams  of 

Kanada  ; 
I  hear  the  chirp  of  the  Mexican   muleteer,  and  the 

bells  of  the  mule  ; 


Saxut  au  Monde!  147 

I  hear  the  Arab  inuezziu,  calling  from  the  top  of  the 

mosque  ; 
I   hear   the    Cliristian   priests    at   the   altars    of   their 

churches  —  I    hear    the    responsive    base    aud 

soprano  ; 
I  hear  the  v/ail  of   utter  despair  of    the  white-hair'd 

Irish  grand-parents,  when  they  learn  the  death 

of  their  grandson  ; 
I  hear  the  cry  of  the  Cossach,  and  the  sailor's  voice, 

putting  to  sea  at  Okotsk  ; 
I  hear  the   wheeze   of  the   slave-coSe,  as  the   slaves 

march  on — as  the  husky  gangs  pass  on  by  tvv'os 

and  threes,  fasten'd  together  with  wrist-chains 

and  ankle-chains  ; 
I  hear  the  entreaties  of  women  tied  up  for  punishment 

—I  hear  the   sibilant  whisk  of  thongs  through 

the  air  ; 
I  hear  the  Hebrew  reading  his  records  and  psalms  ; 
1  hear  the   rhythmic   myths  of    the  Greeks,   and   the 

strong  legends  of  the  Eomans  ; 
I  hear  the  tale  of  the  divine  life  and  bloody  death  of 

the  beautiful  God — the  Christ  ; 
I   hear   the   Hindoo   teaching   his   favorite   pupij.   the 

loves,  wars,    adages,   transmitted   safely  to  this 

day,  fi'om  poets  who  wrote  thi'ee  thousand  years 

asfo. 


®  What  do  you  see,  Walt  Whitman  ? 
Who  are  they  you  salute,  and  that  one  after  another 
salute  you? 

^  I  see  a  great  round  wonder  rolling  through  the  air  ; 
I  see  diminute  farms,  hamlets,  ruins,  grave-yards,  jails, 

factories,   palaces,    hovels,   huts   of    barbarians, 

tents  of  nomads,  upon  the  surface  ; 
I  see  the  shaded  part  on  one  side,  where  the  sleepers 

are  sleeping — and  the  sun-lit  part  on  the  other 

side, 
I  see  the  curious  silent  change  of  the  hght  and  shade, 


1-13  LEAVES  or  GiiAss. 

I  so'j  disiaut  lands,  as  real  and  near  to  tlio  inliabitants 
of  them,  as  my  laud  is  to  me. 

*  I  see  plenteous  v/aters  ; 

I  sea  mountain  peaks — I  see  the  sierras  of  Andes  and 
AlleghauLGS,  where  they  range  ; 

I  S30  plainly  the  Himalayas,  CLian  Shahs,  Altays, 
Grhauts  ; 

I  see  the  giant  pinnacles  of  Elbruz,  Kazbek,  Bazardjusi, 

I  see  the  Rocky  Mountains,  and  the  Peak  of  Winds  ; 

I  see  the  Styrian  Alps,  and  the  Karnac  AIjds  ; 

I  see  the  Pyrenees,  Balks,  Carpathians — and  to  the 
norLh  the  Dofrafields,  and  off  at  sea  Mount 
Hecla  ; 

I  see  Vesuvius  and  Etna — I  see  the  Anahuacs  ; 

I  see  the  Mountains  of  the  Moon,  and  the  Snow 
Mountains,  and  the  Pied  Mountains  of  ]\Iada- 
gas  3ar ; 

I  see  tie  Vermont  hills,  and  the  long  string  of  Cor- 
dilleras ; 

I  see  the  vast  deserts  of  "Western  America  ; 

I  see  the  Lybian ,  Arabian,  and  Asiatic  deserts  ; 

I  see  huge  dreadful  Arctic  and  Antarctic  icebergs  ; 

I  see  the  superior  oceans  and  the  inferior  ones — the 
Atlantic  and  Pacific,  the  sea  of  Mexico,  the 
Brazilian  sea,  and  the  sea  of  Peru, 

Tha  Japan  waters,  those  of  Hindostan,  the  China  Sea, 
and  the  Gulf  of  Guinea, 

The  spread  of  the  Baltic,  Caspian,  Bothnia,  the  British 
shores,  and  the  Bay  of  Biscay, 

The  clear-suiin'd  Mediterranean,  and  from  one  to  an- 
other of  its  islands. 

The  inland  fresh-tasted  seas  of  North  America, 

The  White  Sea,  and  the  sea  around  Greenland. 

®  I  behold  the  mariners  of  the  ^vorld  ; 

Some  are  in  storms — some  in  the  night,  with  the 
watch  on  the  look-oiit ; 

Some  drifting  helplessly — some  with  contagious  dis- 
eases. 


Salut  au  Monde!  149 

'"  I  behold  the  sail  and  steamships  of  (ho  v/(3rld,  some 
in  clusters  in  port,  some  on  their  voyages  ; 

Some  double  the  Cape  of  Storms — some  Gape  Verde, 
— others  Cape  Guardaiui,  Bon,  or  Bajadore  ; 

Others  Dondra  Head — others  pass  the  Straits  of  Sun- 
da  —  others  Cape  Lopatka  —  others  Behring's 
Straits  ; 

Others  Cape  '  Horn — others  sail  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  or 
along  Cuba  or  Hayti — others  Hudson's  Bay  or 
Baffin's  Bay  ; 

Others  pass  the  Straits  of  Dover — others  enter  the 
Wash  —  others  the  Firili  of  Solway  —  others 
round  Cape  Clear — others  the  LaiKl's  End  ; 

Others  traverse  the  Zuyder  Zee,  or  the  Seheld  ; 

Others  add  to  the  exits  and  entrances  at  Sandy  Hooh  ; 

Others  to  the  comers  and  goers  at  Gibraltar,  or  the 
Dardanelles  ; 

Others  sternly  push  their  way  through  the  northern 
v/inter-paclvs  ; 

Others  descend  or  ascend  the  Obi  or  the  Lena  ; 

Others  the  Niger  or  the  Congo — others  the  Indus,  the 
Burampooter  and  Cambodia  ; 

Others  wait  at  the  v/harves  of  Manhattan,  steam'd  up, 
ready  to  start ; 

Wait,  swift  aad  swarthy,  in  the  ports  of  Australia  ; 

Wait  at  Liverpool,  Glasgow,  Dublin,  Marseilles,  Lis- 
bon, Naples,  Hamburg,  Bremen,  Bordeaux,  the 
Hague,  Copenhagen  ; 

Wait  at  Valparaiso,  Rio  Janeiro,  Panama  ; 

Wait  at  their  moorings  at  Boston,  Philadelphia,  Balti- 
raore,  Charleston,  New  Orleans,  Galveston,  San 
Francisco. 


"  I  see  the  tracks  of  the  rail-roads  of  the  earth  ; 

I  see  them  welding  State  to  State,  city  to  city,  through 

North  America  ; 
I  see  them  in  Great  Britain,  I  see  them  in  Europe  ; 
I  see  them  in  Asia  and  in  Africa. 


150  Leaves  of  Graj;s. 

^■-  I  see  the  electric  telegraplis  of  the  earth  ; 
I  see  tlie  filaments  of  the  news  of  tlie  Tvars,  cleatlis, 
losses,  gains,  passions,  of  my  race. 

'^  I  see  the  long  river-stripes  of  the  earth  ; 

I  see  where  the  Mississippi  flows — I  see  where  the  Co- 
lumbia flows  ; 

I  see  the  Great  River,  and  the  Falls  of  Niagara  ; 

I  see  the  Amazon  and  the  Paraguay  ; 

I  see  the  four  great  rivers  of  China,  the  Amour,  the 
Yellow  River,  the  Yiang-tse,  and  the  Pearl ; 

I  see  v/here  the  Seine  flows,  and  where  the  Danube, 
the  Loire,  the  Pthone,  and  the  Guadalquiver 
flow  ; 

I  see  the  windings  of  the  Volga,  the  Dnieper,  the 
Oder  ; 

I  see  the  Tuscan  going  down  the  Arno,  and  the  Vene- 
tian aloiag  the  Po  ; 

I  see  the  Gxcch.  seaman  sailing  out  of  Egina  haj. 

6 

"  I  see  the  site  of  the  old  empire  of  Assyria,  end  that 

of  Persia,  and  that  of  India  ; 
I  see  the  falling  of  the  Ganges  over  the  high  rim  of 

Saukara. 

^^  I  see  the  place  of  the  idea  of  the  Deity  incarnated  by 

avatars  in  human  forms  ; 
I  see  the  spots  of  the  successions  of  priests  on  the  earth 

— oracles,  sacrificers,  brahmins,  sabians,  lamas, 

monks,  muftis,  exhorters  ; 
I  see  where  druids  walked  the  groves  of  Mona — I  see 

the  mistletoe  and  vervain  ; 
I  see  the  temples  of  the  dSaths  of  the  bodies  of  Gods — 

I  see  the  old  signifiers. 

'^  I  see  Christ  once  more  eating  the  bread  of  his  last 
supper,  in  the  midst  of  youths  and  old  persons  ; 

I  see  where  the  strong  divine  young  man,  the  Herculss, 
tpil'd  faithfully  and  long,  and  then  died  ; 


Salut  au  Mo:-;de  !  151 

I  S03  tli3  place  of  tlie  inaosent  ricli  life  and  hapless  fate 

of  tli3  beautiful    nocturnal  son,  the  lull-limb'd 

]]acclau3  ; 
I  see  Knepli,  blooming,  drest  in  blue,  Aritli  tlio  crown 

of  feathers  on  his  head  ; 
I  see  Hermes,  unsuspected,  dying,  well-beloved,  saying 

to  the  people.  Do  not  iveep  for  me, 
This  is  not  my  true  country,  I  have  lived  hanish'd  from 

my  true  country — /  now  go  hack  there, 
I  return  to  the  celestial  sphere,  ivhere  every  one  goes  in  his 

[urn. 


"  I  see  the  battle-fields  of  the  earth — jid^s  grows  upon 

them,  and  blossoms  and  corn  ; 
I  see  the  tracks  of  ancient  and  modern  expoditions. 

'^  I  see  the  nam3l933  masonries,  venerable  messages  of 
the  unhnown  events,  heroes,  records  of  the  earth. 

"  I  see  the  places  of  the  sagas  ; 

I  see  pins-trees  and  fir-trees  torn  by  northern  blasts  ; 

I  see  granite  boulders  and  cliifs — I  see  green  meadows 
and  lakes  ; 

I  see  the  burial-cairns  of  Scandinavian  warrioi's  ; 

I  sse  thein  raised  high  v/ith  stones,  by  ths  marge  of 
resLless  oceans,  that  the  dead  men's  spirits,  when 
they  wearied  of  their  quiet  graves,  might  rise  up 
through  the  mounds,  and  gaze  on  the  tossing  bil- 
lov/s,  and  bo  refrcsh'd  by  storms,  immensity,  lib- 
erty, action. 

'"  I  see  the  steppes  of  Asia  ; 

I  see  the  tumuli  of  Mongolia — I  sse  th«  tents  of  Kal- 
mucks and  Baskirs ; 

I  see  the  nomadic  tribes,  with  herds  of  oxen  and  cows  ; 

I  sse  ths  table-lands  notch'd  with  ravines — I  see  the 
jungles  and  deserts  ; 

I  see  the  camel,  the  v/ild  steed,  the  bustard,  the  fat- 
tail'd  sheep,  the  antelope,  and  the  burrowing 
wolf. 


152  LEAVES  OF  Grass. 

^'  I  see  tlio  bigli-lands  of  Abyssinia  ; 

I  see  floclis  of  goats  feeding,  and  see  the  fig-tree,  tama- 
rind, date, 

And  see  fields  of  teff-wlieat,  and  see  tlie  places  of  ver- 
dure and  gold. 

'■^'  I  see  the  Brazilian  vaquero  ; 

I  see  the  Bolivian  ascending  Mount  Sorata  ; 

I  see  the  Wacho  crossing  the  plains — I  see  the  incom- 
parable rider  of  horses  v»^ith  his  lasso  on  his 
arm  ; 

I  see  over  the  pampas  the  pursuit  of  wild  cattle  for 
their  hides. 

8 

■^  I  cee  little  and  large  sea-dots,  some  inhabited,  some 

uninhabited  ; 
I  see  two  boats  with  nets,  lying  oli  the  sjhore  of  Pau- 

raanolr,  quite  still ; 
I  see  ten  fishermen  waiting — they  discover  now  a  thick 
..school   of  mossbonkers — they  drop   the    join'd 

seine-ends  in  the  water, 
The  boats  separate — they  diverge  and  row  off,  each  on 

its  rounding  coui'se  to  the  beach,  enclosing  the 

mossbonkers  ; 
The  net  is  .drawn  in  by  a  windlass  by  those  who  stop 

ashore. 
Some  of  the  fishermen  lounge  in  their  boats — others 

stand  negligently  ankle-deep  in  the  water,  pois'd 

on  strong  legs  ; 
The  boats  are  partly  drawn  up — the  water  slaps  against 

them  ; 
On  the  sand,  in  heaps  and  winrov/s,  well  out  from  the 

water,  lie  the  green-baek'd  spotted  mossbonkers. 

9     • 

^^  I  see  the  despondent  red  man  in  the  west,  lingering 
about  the  banks  of  Moingo,  and  about  Lake 
Pepin  ; 


Sali;t  au  Monde!  153 

He  has  heard  the  quail  and  beheld  the  honey-bee,  and 
sadly  prepared  to  depart. 

-^  I  see  the  regions  of  snow  and  ice  ; 

I  see  the  sharp-eyed  Samoiede  and  the  Finn  ; 

I  see  the  seal-seeker  in  his  boat,  poising  his  lance  ; 

I  see  the  Siberian  on  his  slight-built  sledge,  di'awn  by 

dogs  ; 
I  see  the  j)orpoise-hunters — I  see  the  whale-crevrs  of 

the  South  Pacific  and  the  North  Atlantic  ; 
I  see  the  cliifs,  glaciers,  torrents,  valleys,  of  Switzerland 

— I  mark  the  long  winters,  and  the  isolation. 

^^  I  see  the  cities  of  the  earth,  and  make  myself  at  ran- 
dom a  part  of  them  ; 

I  ara  a  real  Parisian  ; 

I  am  a  habitan  of  Vienna,  St.  Petersburg,  Berlin,  Con- 
stantinople ; 

I  am  of  Adelaide,  Sidney,  Melbourne  ; 

I  am  of  London,  Manchester,  Bristol,  Edinburgh,  Lim- 
erick ; 

I  am  of  Madrid,  Cadiz,  Barcelona,  Oporto,  Lyons,  Brus- 
sels, Berne,  Frankfort,  Stuttgart,  Turin,  Florence] 

I  belong  in  Moscow,  Cracow,  Warsaw — or  northward 
in  Christiania  or  Stockholm — or  in  Siberiuu 
Irkutsk — or  in  some  street  in  Iceland  ; 

I  descend  ux^on  all  those  cities,  and  rise  from  thorn 
again. 

10 

^'  I  see  vapors  exhaling  from  unexplored  countries  ; 
I  see  the  savage  tyx^es,  the  bow  and  arrow,  the  poison'd 
splint,  the  fetish,  and  the  obi. 

^*  I  see  African  and  Asiatic  towns  ; 

I  see   Algiers,  Tripoli,   Derne,  Mogadore,   Timbuctoo, 

Monrovia  ; 
I  see  the  swarms  of  Pekin,  Canton,  Benares,  Delhi, 

Calcutta,  Yedo  ; 
I  see  the  Kruman  in  his  hut,  and  the  Dahoman  and 

Ashantee-man  in  their  huts  ; 


154  JuEAVEo  o?  Gr.Ass. 

I  see  the  Tvirk  snioliing  opium  in  Aleppo  ; 

I  see  the  picturesque  crowds  at  the  fairs  of  Khivaj  and 

those  of  Herat ; 
I  see  Telieran — I  see  Muscat  and  Medina,  and  the  inter- 
vening sands— I  see  the  caravans  toiling  onward; 
I  see  Egyj)t  and  the  Egyptians — I  see  the  pyi'amids  and 

obelisks  ; 
I  look  on  chisel'd  histories,  songs,  j)hilosophies,  cut  in 

slabs  of  sand-stone,  or  on  granite-blocks  ; 
I  see  at  Memphis  murnmy-pits,  containing  mummies, 

embalm'd,   swathed  in  linen  cloth,   lying  there 

many  centimes  ; 
I  look  on  the  fall'n  Theban,  the  large-ball'd  eyes,  the 

side-drooping  neck,  the  hands  folded  across  the 

breast. 

°^  I  see  the  menials  of  the  earth,  laboring  ; 

I  see  the  prisoners  in  the  prisons  ; 

I  see  the  defective  human  bodies  of  the  earth  ; 

I  see  the  blind,  the  deaf  and  dumb,  idiots,  hunchbacks, 
lunatics  ; 

I  see  the  pirates,  thieves,  betrayers,  murderers,  slave- 
makers  of  the  earth  ; 

I  see  the  helpless  infants,  and  the  heljoless  old  men  and 
women. 

"°  I  see  male  and  female  everywhere  ; 

I  see  the  serene  brotlierhood  of  philosophs  ; 

I  see  the  constructiveness  of  my  race  ; 

I  see  the  results  of  the  perseverance  and  industry  of 

my  race  ; 
I   see    ranks,    colors,    barbarisms,    civilizations — I   go 

among  them — I  mix  indiscriminately. 
And  I  salute  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  earth. 

11 

"'  You,  whoever  you  are  ! 
You  daughter  or  son  of  England! 

You  of  the  mighty  Slavic  tribes  and  empires !  you  Russ 
in  Russia ! 


S.iLUT  AU  Moi^ide!  155 

You  dim-descended,  black,  divine-soul'd  African,  large, 
fine-headed,  nobly-form'd,  superbly  destin'd,  on 
equal  terms  with,  me ! 

You  Norwegian  !  Swede !  Dane  !  Icelandei- !  you  Prus- 
sian! 

You  Spaniard  oi  Spain  !  you  Portuguese ! 

You  Frenchwoman  and  I'renchman  of  France! 

You  Beige  I  y6u  liberty-lover  of  the  Netherlands  I 

You  sturdy  Austrian !  j^ou  Lombard  I  Hun !  Bohemian ! 
farmer  of  Styria ! 

You  neighbor  of  the  Danube  I 

You  working-man  of  the  Ehine,  the  Elbe,  or  the  Weser ! 
you  working-woman  too! 

You  Sardinian !  you  Bavarian  !  Swabian !  Saxon  !  Wal- 
lachian !  Bulgarian ! 

You  citizen  of  Prague !  Pioman !  Neapolitan !  Greek ! 

You  lithe  matador  in  the  arena  at  Seville ! 

You  mountaineer  living  lawlessly  on  the  Taurus  or 
Caucasus ! 

You  Bokh  horse-herd,  watching  your  mares  and  stal- 
lions feeding ! 

Y^ou  beautiful-bodied  Persian,  at  full  speed  in  the  sad- 
dle, shooting  arrows  to  the  mark ! 

You  Chinaman  and  Chinawoman  of  China !  you  Tartar 
of  Tartary! 

You  v^^omen  of  the  earth  subordinated  at  your  tasks ! 

You  Jew  journeying  in  jonr  old  age  through  every  risk, 
to  stand  once  on  Syrian  groiuid  ! 

You  other  Jews  waiting  in  all  lands  for  your  Messiah! 

You  thoughtful  Armenian,  pondering  by  some  stream 
of  tbe  Euphrates  I  you  peering  amid  the  ruins 
of  Ninevah  I  you  ascending  Moimt  Ararat ! 

You  foot-worn  pilgrim  welcoming  the  far-away  sparkle 
of  the  minarets  of  Mecca  ! 

You  sheiks  along  the  stretch  from  Suez  to  Bab-el-man- 
deb,  ruhng  your  families  and  tribes  ! 

You  olive-grower  tending  your  fi-uit  on  fields  of  Naz- 
areth, Damascus,  or  Lake  Tiberias  ! 

You  Thibet  trader  ou  the  wide  inland,  or  bargaining 
in  the  shops  of  Lassa ! 


156  Leaves  of  Grass. 

You  Japanese  man  or  woman !  joii  liver  in  Madagas- 
car, Ceylon,  Sumatra,  Borneo  ! 

All  you  continentals  of  Asia,  Africa,  Europe,  Australia, 
indifferent  of  place ! 

All  you  on  the  numberless  islands  of  the  archipelagoes 
of  the  sea ! 

And  yon  of  centuries  lience,  when  you  listen  to  me  ! 

And  you,  each  and  everyv/here,  whom  I  specify  not,  but 
include  just  the  same  ! 

Health  to  you !  Good  will  to  you  all — from  me  and 
Amorica  sent. 

°'^  Each  of  us  inevitable  ; 

Each  of  us  limitless — each  of  us  v/ith  his  or  her  right 

upon  the  earth  ; 
Each  of  us  allow'd  the  eternal  purports  of  the  earth  ; 
Each  of  us  here  as  divinely  as  any  is  here. 

12 

""  You  Hottentot  Vv^ith  chching  p:daie  !  You  woolly- 
hair'd  hordes ! 

You  ov.'n'd  persons,  dropping  sweat-drops  or  blood- 
drops  ! 

You  human  forms  with  the  fathomless  ever-impressive 
countenances  of  brutes ! 

I  dare  not  refuse  you— the  scope  of  the  v/orld,  and  of 
time  and  space,  are  upon  me. 

^^  You  poor  hoboo  whom  the  meanest  of  the  rest  look 
down  upon,  for  all  your  glimmering  language 
and  spirituality ! 

You  low  expiring  aborigines  of  the  hills  of  Utah,  Ore- 
gon, California! 

You  dwarf 'd  Kamtschatkan,  Greenlander,  Lapp  J 

You  Austral  negro,  naked,  red,  sooty,  with  proirusivc 
lip,  grovelhng,  seeking  yom'  food  ! 

You  Cafti-e,  Berber,  Soudanese  ! 

You  haggard,  uncouth,  untutor'd,  Bedowee  ! 

You  plague-swarms  in  Madras,  Nankin,  Kaubul,  Cairo ! 

You  bather  bathing  in  the  Gancfes  ! 


S..LUX  Au  Mo-ch!  157 

You  beuiglited  roamer  of  Amazonia  !  you  Patagoniau  ! 

you  Fejee-mau  ! 
You  peon  of  Mexico  !    you  slave  of  Carolina,   Texas, 

Tennessee  ! 
I  do  not  prefer  otliers  so  very  mucli  before  you  either  ; 
I  do  not  say  one  vv^ord  against  you,  away  back  there, 

where  you  stand  ; 
(You  will  come  forward  in  due  time  to  my  side.) 

"''  My  spirit  has  pass'd  in  compassion  and  determina- 
tion around  the  whole  earth  ; 

I  have  look'd  for  equals  and  lovers,  and  found  them 
ready  for  me  in  all  lands  ; 

I  think  some  divine  rapport  has  equalized  rne  with 
them. 

13 

"'  O  vapors  !  I  think  I  have  risen  with  you,  and  moved 
avv^ay  to  distant  continents,  and  fallen  down  there, 
for  reasons  ; 

I  think  I  have  blown  with  you,  O  winds  ; 

0  v/aters,  I  have  finger'd  every  shore  wuth  you. 

'''  I  have  run  through  what  any  river  or  strait  of  the 
globe  has  run  through  ; 

1  have  taken  my  stand  on  the  bases  of  peninsulas,  and 

on  the  high  embedded  rocks,  to  cry  thence. 

^^  Salut  au  monde  ! 

What  cities  the  light  or  warmth  penetrates,  I  penetrate 

those  cities  myself  ; 
All  islands  to  which  birds  wing  their  V7ay,  I  wing  my 

way  myself. 

="  Toward  all, 

I  raise  high  the  perpendicular  hand — I  make  the  signal, 

To  remain  after  me  in  sight  forever. 

For  all  the  haunts  and  homes  of  men. 


158  Leaves  of  Geas;j. 


A  Child's  Amaze. 

Silent  find  amazed,  even  wlieii  a  little  boy, 

I  remember  I   heard  the  preacher  every  Sunday  put 

Grod  in  his  statements, 
As  contending  against  some  being  or  influence. 


The  Runner. 

On  a  flat  road  runs  the  Vv'ell-train'd  runner  ; 
He  is  lean  and  sinewy,  with  muscular  legs  ; 
He  is  thinly  clothed — he  leans  forward  as  he  runs, 
"With  lightly  closed  fists,  and  arms  partially  rais'd. 


Beautiful  Women. 

Women  sit,  or  move  to  and  fro — some  old,  some  young ; 
The  young  are  beautiful — but  the  old  are  more  beauti- 
fiol  than  the  young. 


Mother  and  Babe. 

I  SEE  the  sleeping  babe,  nestling  the  breast  of  its  mother ; 
The  sleeping  mother  and  babe— hush'd,  I  study  them 


long  and  long. 


Thought. 


Of  obedience,  faith,  adhesiveness  *, 

As  I  stand  aloof  and  loolc,  there  is  to  me  something 
profoundly  aliecting  in  large  masses  of  men,  fol- 
Ipwing  the  lead  of  those  who  do  not  believe  in 


Leaves  of  Grass. 


American   Feuillage. 


A-MEKicA  filwnys ! 

Always  our  own  feuillage  ! 

Always  Florida's  green  peninsula  !  Always  tlie  priceless 
delta  of  Louisiana !  Always  the  cotton-lields  of 
Alabama  and  Texas  ! 

Always  California's  golden  bills  and  hollows — and  tlio 
silver  mountains  of  New  Mexico !  Always  sof:- 
breath'd  Cuba ! 

Always  the  vast  slope  drain'd  by  the  Southern  Sea — 
inseparable  with  the  slopes  drain'd  by  the  East- 
ern and  Western  Seas ; 

The  area  the  eighty-third  year  of  These  States — the 
three  aud  a  half  milhons  of  square  miles  ; 

The  eighteen  thousand  miles  of  sea-coast  and  bay-coast 
on  the  main — the  thirty  thousand  miles  of  river 
navigation, 

The  seven  millions  of  distinct  families,  and  the  same 
niunber  of  dwellings — Alw^ays  these,  and  more, 
branching  forth  into  numberless  branches  ; 

Always  the  free  range  and  diversity  !  always  the  conti- 
nent of  Democracy ! 

Always  the  prairies,  pastures,  forests,  vast  cities,  trav- 
elers, Kanada,  the  snows  ; 

Always  these  compact  lands — lands  tied  at  the  hips 
with  the  belt  stringing  the  huge  oval  lakes  ; 

Always  the  West,  with  strong  native  persons — the  in- 
creasing density  there — the  habitans,  friendly, 
threatening,  ironical,  scorning  invaders  ; 

All  sights,  South,  North,  East — all  deeds,  promiscu- 
ously done  at  all  times, 


169  Lj:ave3  ov  Gkass. 

All   characters,    movements,   growths — a   few   uoticefl, 

iiiyriacls  unnoticed. 
Through  Mannahatta's  streets  I  walking,  these  things 

gathering  ; 
On  interior  rivers,  by  night,  in  the  glare  of  pine  knots, 

steamboats  wooding  up  ; 
Sunlight  by  day  on  the  valley  of  the  Susquehanna,  and 

on  the  valleys  of  the  Potomac  and  Rappahannock, 

and  the  valleys  of  the  Roanoke  and  Delaware  ; 
In  their  northerly  wilds,  beasts  of  prey  haunting  the 

Adivondacks,  the  hills — or  lapping  the  Saginaw 

waters  to  drink  ; 
In  a  lonesome  inlet,  a  sheldrake,  lost  from  the  flock, 

sitting  on  the  water,  rocking  silently  ; 
In  farmers'  barns,  oxen  in  the  stable,  their  harvest  labor 

done — ihey  rest  standing — they  are  too  tired  ; 
Afar  on  arctic  ice,  the  she-walrus  lying  drowsily,  while 

her  cubs  play  around  ; 
The  hav/k  sailing  vv'here  men  have  not  yet  saikd — the 

farthest  polar  sea,  ripply,  crystalline,  open,  be- 
yond the  floes ; 
White  ch-iffc  spooning  ahead,  where  the  ship  in  the  tem- 
pest dashes  ; 
On  solid  land,  w^hat  is  done  in  citier',  as  the  bells  all 

strike  midnight  together  ; 
In  primitive  woods,  the  sounds  there  also  sounding — 

the  howl  of  the  wolf,  the  scream  of  the  panther, 

and  the  hoarse  bellow  of  the  elk  ; 
In  winter  beneath  the  hard  blue  ice  of  Mooseliead  Lake 

— in  summer  visible  through  the  clear  waters, 

the  great  trout  swimming  ; 
In  lower  latitudes,  in  warmer  air,  in  the  Carolinas,  the 

large  black  buzzard  floating  slowly,  high  beyond 

the  tree  tops. 
Below,   the  red  cedar,  festoon'd   with   tylandria — the 

pines  and  cypresses,  growing  out  of  the  white 

sand  that  spreads  far  and  flat  ; 
Rude  boats  descending  the  big  Pedee — climbing  plants, 

parasites,  with  color'd  flowers  and  berries,  envel- 
oping huge  trees. 


Am^uican  FkuillagKo  IGl 

Tlie  waving-  drapery  on  the  live  oak,  trailing-  long  and 
low,  noiselessly  waved  by  tlie  wind  ; 

The  camp  of  Georgia  wagoners,  just  after  dark — the 
siipper-fires,  and  the  cooking  and  eating  by 
whites  and  negroes. 

Thirty  or  forty  great  wagons — the  mules,  cattle,  horses, 
feeding  from  troughs, 

The  shadows,  gleams,  up  under  the  leaves  of  the  old 
sycamore-trees — the  flames — -with  the  black  smoke 
from  the  pitch-pine,  curling  and  rising  ; 

Southern  fishermen  fishing — the  sounds  and  inlets  of 
North  Carolina's  coast — the  shad-fishery  and  the 
herring-fishery — the  large  sweep-seines  —  the 
windlasses  on  shore  work'd  by  horses — the  clear- 
ing, curing,  and  packing-houses  ; 

Deep  in  the  forest,  in  piney  woods,  turpentine  dropping* 
fi-om  the  incisions  in  the  trees — There  are  the 
turpentine  works, 

There  are  the  negroes  at  work,  in  good  health — the 
ground  in  all  directions  is  cover'd  with  pine 
straw  : 

— In  Tennessee  and  Kent'.icky,  slaves  busy  in  the  coal- 
ings, at  the  forge,  l>y  the  furnace-blaze,  or  at  the 
corn-shucking ; 

In  Virginia,  the  planter's  son  returning  after  a  long- 
absence,  joyfully  welcom'd  and  kiss'd  by  the  aged 
mulatto  nurse  ; 

On  rivers,  boatmen  safely  rnoor'd  at  night-fall,  in  their 
boats,  under  shelter  of  high  banks. 

Some  of  the  younger  men  dance  to  the  sound  of  the 
banjo  or  fiddle  — others  sit  on  the  gunvv^ale,  smok- 
ing- and  talking- ; 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  the  mocking-bird,  tlie  American 
mimic,  singing  in  the  Great  Dismal  Swamp — 
there  are  tiie  greenish  waters,  the  resinous  odor, 
the  plenteous  moss,  the  cyprcso  tree,  and  the 
juniper  tree  ;     • 

— Northward,  young  men  of  Mannahatta — the  target, 
company  from  an  excursion  returning  homo  at 
evening — the  musliet-muzzles  all  bear  bunches 
of  liovrci'3  presented  by  v/omen  ; 


162  Leaves  of  Gkass. 

Children  at  play — or  ou  his  father's  lap  a  young  boy 

fallen  asleep,  (how  his  lips  move  !  how  he  smiles 

in  his  sleep  !) 
The  scout  riding  on  horseback  over  the  plains  west  of 

the  Mississippi — he  ascends  a  knoll  and  sweeps 

his  eye  around ; 
California  life — the  miner,  bearded,  dress'd  in  his  rude 

costume — the  stanch  California  friendship — the 

sweet   air — the   graves   one,  in  passing,  meets, 

solitary,  just  aside  the  horse-path  ; 
Down  in  Texas,  the   cotton-field,  the  negro-cabins — 

drivers  di'iving  mules  or  oxen  before  rude  carts — 

cotton  bales  piled  on  banks  and  wharves  ; 
Encircling  all,  vast-darting,  up  and  wide,  the  American 

Soul,  with   equal   hemispheres — one  Love,  one 

Dilation  or  Pride  ; 
— ^In  arriere,  the  peace-talk  with  the  Iroquois,  the  abo- 

riguies — the  calumet,  the  pipe  of  good-will,  arbi- 
tration, and  indorsement, 
The  sachem  blowing  the  smoke  first  toward  the  sun  and 

then  toward  the  earth. 
The  drama  of  the  scalp-dance  enacted  with  painted 

faces  and  guttural  exclamations. 
The  setting  out  of  the  war-part}^ — the  lor:g  and  stealthy 

march. 
The   single-file — the   swinging  hatchets — the   surprise 

and  slaughter  of  enemies  ; 
— AH  the  acts,  scenes,  ways,  persons,  attitudes  of  These 

States — reminiscences,  all  institutions. 
All  These  States,  compact — Every  square  mile  of  These 

States,  without  excepting  a  particle— you  also — 

me  also, 
Me  pleas'd,  rambling  in  lanes  and  country  fields,  Pau- 

manok's  fields. 
Me,  observing  the  spiral  flight  of  two  little  j^ellow  but- 
terflies, shufliiiig  between  each  other,  ascending 

high  in  the  air  ; 
The  darting  swallow,  the  destroyer  of  insects — the  fall 

traveler    southward,  but   returning  northward 

early  in  the  spring  ; 


American  Feuillage.  1G3 

The  country  boy  at  the  close  of  the  day,  di'iving  the 
heixl  of  cows,  and  shoiitrng  to  them  as  they  loiter 
to  browse  by  the  road-side  ; 

The  city  wharf — Boston,  I'hiladelphia,  Baliimore, 
Charleston,  New  Orleans,  San  Francisco, 

The  departing  ships,  when  the  sailors  heave  at  the 
capstan  ; 

— Evening — me  in  my  room — the  setting  sun, 

The  S2tting  summer  sun  shining  in  my  open  window, 
showing  the  swarm  of  flies,  suspended,  balancing 
in  the  air  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  darting 
athwart,  up  and  down,  casting  swift  shadows  in 
speehs  on  the  opposite  "wall,  wiiere  the  shine  is  ; 

The  athletic  American  matron  speaking  in  public  to 
crowds  of  listeners  ; 

Males,  females,  immigrants,  combinations — the  copious- 
ness— the  individuality  of  The  States,  each  for 
itself — the  money-makers  ; 

Factories,  machinery,  the  mechanical  forces — the  wind- 
lass, lever,  pulley — All  certainties. 

The  certainty  of  space,  increase,  freedom,  futurity, 

In  space,  the  sporades,  the  seatter'd  islands,  the  stars — 
on  the  firm  earth,  tlie  lands,  my  lands  ; 

0  lands!  all  so  dear  to  me — what  you  are,  (whatever  it 
is,)  I  become  a  pare  of  that,  whatever  it  is ; 

Southward  there,  I  screaming,  with  wings  slow  flapj)ing, 
with  the  myriads  of  gulls  wintering  along  the 
coasts  of  Florida — or  in  Louisiana,  with  pelicans 
breeding ; 

Othcrvt"ays,  there,  atwixt  the  banks  of  the  Arkansaw,  the 
Rio  Grande,  the  Nueces,  the  Brazos,  the  Tombig- 
bee,  the  Ked  River,  the  Saskatchawan,  or  the 
Osage,  I  with  the  spriug  waters  laughing  and 
skipping  and  running  ; 

Northward,  on  the  sands,  on  some  shallow  bay  of  Pau- 
manok,  I,  with  parties  of  snowy  herons  wading 
in  the  w^et  to  seek  worms  and  aquatic  plants  ; 

Retreating,  triumphantly  twittering,  the  king-bird,  from 
piercing  the  crow  with  its  bill,  for  amusement — 
And  I  triumphantly  twittering  ; 


16i  Leaves  ojp  Geass. 

The  migrating  flock  of  wild  geese  alighting  in  autumn 
to  refresh  themselves — the  body  of  the  flock  feed 
— the  sentinels  outside  move  around  with  erect 
heads  watching,  and  are  i'rom  time  to  time  re- 
liev'd  by  other  sentinels — And  I  fseding  and 
taking  turns  with  the  rest ; 

In  Kanadia^i  forests,  the  moose,  largo  as  an  ox,  corner'd 
by  hunters,  rising  desperately  on  his  hind-feet, 
and  }.ilungiug  with  his  fore-feet,  the  hoofs  as 
sharp  as  knives — And  I,  plunging  at  the  hunters, 
corner'd  and  desperate  ; 

In  the  Mannahatta,  streets,  piers,  shipj)ing,  store-houses, 
and  the  countless  workmen  working  in  the  shops, 

And  I  too  of  the  Mannahatta,  singmg  thereof — and  no 
less  in  m^^self  than  the  whole  of  the  Mannahatta 
in  itself. 

Singing  the  song  of  These,  my  ever-united  lands — my 
body  no  more  inevitably  united,  part  to  part,  and 
made  one  identity,  any  more  than  my  lands  are 
inevitably  united,  and  made  One  identity  ; 

Nativities,  climates,  the  grass  of  the  gTeat  Pastoral 
Plains  ; 

Cities,  labors,  death,  animals,  products,  war,  good  and 
evil — these  me, 

The3e  affording,  in  all  their  particulars,  endless  feuil- 
lage  to  me  and  to  America,  how  can  I  do  less 
than  pass  the  clew  of  the  union  of  them,  to  afford 
the  like  to  yon? 

Whoever  you  are  !  how  can  I  but  ofifer  you  divine  leaves, 
that  you  also  be  eligible  as  I  am  ? 

How  can  I  bnt,  as  here,  chanting,  invite  you  for  yoiu'- 
self  to  collect  bouquets  of  the  incomparable 
feuilla^e  of  These  States? 


Leaves  of  Grass. 


Song  of  the  Broad- Axe. 


'  TVej^pon,  shapely,  naked,  wan! 

Head  from  the  mother's  bowels  drawn  ! 

Wooded  flesh  and  metal  bone !  limb  only  one,  and  lip 

only  one ! 
Gray-blue  leaf  by  red-heat  grown !  helve  produced  from 

a  little  seed  sown! 
Eesting-  the  grass  amid  and  upon. 
To  be  lean'd,  and  to  lean  on. 

^  Strong  shapes,  and  attributes  of  strong  shajies — mas- 
culine trades,  sights  and  sounds  ; 

Long  varied  train  of  an  emblem,  dabs  of  music  ; 

Fingers  of  the  organist  skipping  staccato  over  the  keys 
of  the  great  organ. 


'  Welcome  are  all  earth's  lands,  each  for  its  land  ; 

Welcome  are  lands  of  pine  and  oak ; 

Welcome  are  lands  of  the  lemon  and  fig  ; 

Welcome  are  lands  of  gold  ; 

Welcome  are  lands  of  wheat  and  maize — welcome  those 

of  the  grape  ; 
Welcome  are  lands  of  sugar  and  rice; 
Welcome  the  cotton-lands — welcome  those  of  the  white 

potato  and  sweet  potato  ; 
Welcome  are  mountains,  flats,  sands,  forests,  prairies ; 


166  Leaves  of  Gkasj. 

Welcome  tlie  rich  borders  of  rivers,  table-lands,  open- 
ings ; 

Welcome  the  measureless  grazing-lands — welcome  the 
teeming  soil  of  orchards,  flax,  honey,  hemp  ; 

Welcome  just  as  much  the  other  more  hard-faced  lands; 

Lands  rich  as  lands  of  gold,  or  vfheat  and  fruit  lands  ; 

Lands  of  mines,  lands  of  the  manly  and  rugged  ores  ; 

Lands  of  eoal,  copper,  lead,  tin,  zinc  ; 

Lands  of  Ieon  !  lands  of  the  make  of  the  axe ! 


■*  The  log  at  the  wood-pile,  the  axe  supported  by  it ; 
The  sylvan  hut,  the  vine  over  the  doorway,  the  space 

clear'd  for  a  garden, 
The  irregular  tapping  of  rain  down  on  the  leaves,  after 

the  storm  is  luU'd, 
The  wailing  and  moaning  at  intervals,  the  thought  of 

the  sea. 
The  thought  of  ships  struck  in  the  storm,  and  put  on 

their  beam  ends,  and  the  cutting  away  of  masts; 
The  sentiment   of   the  huge   timbers  of   old-faishion'd 

houses  and  barns  ; 
The  remember'd  print  or   narrative,  the  voyage  at  a 

venture  of  men,  families,  goods, 
Tlie  disembarkation,  the  founding  of  a  new  city. 
The  voyage  of  those  who  sought  a  New  England  and 

found  it — the  outset  anyv/here, 
The  settlements  of   the  Arkansas,  Colorado,  Ottawa, 

Willamette, 
The  slow  progress,  the  scant  fare,  the  axe,  rifle,  saddle- 
bags ; 
The  beauty  of  all  adventurous  acd  daring  persons. 
The  beauty  of  wood-boys  and  wood-men,  with  their 

clear  untrimm'd  faces, 
The  beauty  of  independence,  departure,  actions  that 

rely  on  themselves. 
The  American  contempt  for  statutes  and  ceremonies, 

the  boundless  impatience  of  restraint, 
The  loose  drift  of  character,  the  inkhng  through  ran- 
dom types,  the  solidification  ; 


Song  of  the  Beoad-Axe.  167 

TLe  butcbor  in  the  slaiigliter-house,  tlie  hands  aboard 
schooners  and  sloops,  the  raftsman,  the  pioneer, 

Liimbermeu  in  their  winter  camp,  day-break  in  the 
woods,  stripes  of  snow  on  the  hmbs  of  trees,  the 
occasional  snapping, 

The  glad  clear  sound  of  one's  own  Toice,  the  merry 
song,  the  natin-al  life  of  the  woods,  the  strong 
day's  work,  - 

The  blazing  fire  at  night,  the  sweet  taste  of  snpper,  the 
talk,  the  bed  of  hemlocli:  boughs,  and  the  bear- 
skin ; 

— The  house-builder  at  work  in  cities  or  anyv/here, 

The  preparatory  jointing,  squaring,  sawing,  mortising, 

The  hoist-up  of  beams,  the  push  of  them  in  their  places, 
la;^dng  them  regular. 

Setting  the  studs  by  their  tenons  in  the  mortises,  accord- 
ing as  they  were  prepared. 

The  blows  of  mallets  and  hammers,  the  attitudes  of  the 
men,  their  curv'd  limbs, 

Bending,  standing,  astride  the  beams,  didving  in  pins, 
holding  on  by  posts  and  braces, 

Tlie  hook'd  arm  over  the  plate,  the  other  arm  wielding 
the  axe. 

The  floor-men  forcing  the  planks  close,  to  be  nail'd. 

Their  postures  bringing  their  weapons  downward  on 
the  bearers. 

The  echoes  resounding  through  the  vacant  building  ; 

The  huge  store-house  carried  up  in  the  city,  well  under 
way. 

The  six  framing-men,  two  in  the  middle,  and  two  at 
each  end,  carefully  bearing  on  their  shoulders  a 
heavy  stick  for  a  cross-beam, 

The  crowded  line  of  masons  with  trowels  in  their  right 
hands,  rapidly  laying  the  long  rjide-wall,  two 
hundred  feet  from  front  to  rear, 

The  flexible  rise  and  fall  of  baclcs,  the  continual  click 
of  the  trowels  striking  the  bricks, 

The  bricks,  one  after  another,  each  laid  so  workman- 
like in  its  place,  and  set  with  a  knock  of  the 
trov/el-handle. 


168  Leave3  of  Gr.As:^. 

Tlie  piles  of  materials,  the  morcar  on  tlic  mortar-boarcls, 

and  the  steady  replenishing'  by  the  hod-men  ; 
— Spar-makers  in  the  spar-yard,  the  swarming  row  of 

well-grown  apprentices, 
The   swing   of    their    axes    on   the    square-hew'd  log, 

shaping  it  toward  the  shape  of  a  mast, 
The  brisk  short  crackle  of  the  steel   driven  slantingly 

into  the  pine. 
The  butter-color'd  chips  flying  oil  in  great  flakes  and 

slivers. 
The  limber  motion  of  brawny  yoimg  arms  and  hips  in 

easy  costumes  ; 
The  constructor  of  wharves,  bridges,  jiiers,  buik-heads, 

floats,  stays  against  the  sea  ; 
— The  cit}'  fireman  — the  fire  that  suddenly  bursts  forth 

in  the  close-pack'd  square. 
The   arriving   engines,  the  hoarse   shouts,  the  nimble 

stepping  and  daring, 
The    strong  command  through  the  fire-trumpets,  the 

falling  in   line,    the   rise  and  fall  of  the   arms 

forcing  the  water. 
The  slender,    spasmic,   blue-white  jets — the    bringing 

to    bear  of   the   hooks  and  ladders,  and   their 

execution, 
The  crash  and  cut  away  of  connecting  vrood-work,  or 

through  floors,  if  the  fire  smoulders  under  them. 
The  crowd  with  their   lit  faces,  watching — the  glare 

and  dense  shadows  ; 
— The  forger  at  his  forge-furnace,  and  the  user  of  ii'on 

after  him, 
The  maker  of  the  axe  large  and  small,  and  the  welder 

and  temperer. 
The  chooser  breathing  his   breath  on  the  cold  steel, 

and  trying  the  edge  with  his  thumb. 
The  one  who  clean-shapes  the  handle,  and  sets  it  firmly 

in  the  socket  ; 
The  shadowy  processions  of  the  portraits  of  the  past 

users  also. 
The  primal  patient  mechanics,  the  architects  and  en- 
gineers. 
The  far-off  Assyrian  edifice  and  Mizra  edifice, 


Song  cf  the  Bp.oad-A:?:e.  169 

The  Eoman  lictors  precadiDg  the  consuls, 

The  antique  Earoj)ean  warrior  with  his  axe  in  combat, 

The  uphfted  arm,  the  clatter  of  blows  on  the  helmetcd 

head, 
The  death-howl,  the  limpsey  tumbling  body,  the  rush 

of  fi'iend  and  foe  thither, 
The  siege  of  revolted  lieges  determin'd  for  liberty. 
The  summons  to  surrender,  the  battering  at  castle'  gates, 

the  truce  and  parley  ; 
The  sack  of  an  old  city  in  its  time. 
The  bursting  in  of  mercenaries  and  bigots  tumultuously 

and  disorderly. 
Roar,  flames,  blood,  druntenness,  madness, 
Goods  freely  rifled  from  houses  and  temples,  screams  of 

women  in  the  gripe  of  brigands, 
Craft  and  thievery  of  camp-followers,  men  running,  old 

l^ersons  despairing. 
The  hell  of  war,  the  cruelties  of  creeds. 
The  list  of  all  executive  deeds  and  words,  just  or  unjust, 
The  power  of  personality,  just  or  unjust. 


^  Muscle  and  pluck  forever ! 
What  invigorates  life,  invigorates  death, 
And  the  dead  advance  as  much  as  the  living  advance, 
And  the  future  is  no  more  uncertain  than  the  present. 
And  the  roughness  of  the  earth  and  of  man  encloses  as 
much  as  the  delicatesse  of  the  earth  and  of  man. 
And  nothing  endures  but  personal  qualities. 

*  "WTiat  do  you  think  endures  ? 

Do  you  think  the  gTcat  city  endures  ? 

Or  a  teeming  manufacturing  state  ?  or  a  prepared  con- 
stitution ?  or  the  best  built  steamships  ? 

-Or  hotels  of  granite  and  iron  ?  or  any  chef-d'oeuvres  of 
engineering,  forts,  armaments '? 

'  Away !    These  are  not  to  be  cherisli'd  for  themselves  ; 
They  till  their  hoiu",  the  dancers  dance,  the  musicians 
play  for  them  ; 


170  L2AVE3  CF  Gkass. 

The  bIiotv  passes,  all  docs  well  enough  of  course, 
All  does  very  well  till  one  flash  of  defiance. 

*  The  great  city  is  that  which  has  the  greatest  man  or 

woman  ; 
If  it  be  a  few  ragged  huts,  it  is  still  the  greatest  cily  in 

the  whole  world. 


^  The   place  where   the   great   city  stands  is  not  the 

place  of  stretch'd  wharves,  docks,  manufactures, 

deposits  of  produce, 
Nor  the  place  of  ceaseless  salutes  of  new  comers,  or  the 

anchor-lifters  of  the  departing, 
Nor  the  place  of  the  tallest  and  costliest  buildings,  or 

shops  selHng  goods  fi*om  the  rest  of  the  earth, 
Nor  the  place  of  the  best  libraries  and  schools — nor  the 

place  where  money  is  plentiest. 
Nor  the  place  of  the  most  numerous  population. 

'"  Where  the  city  stands  v^'ith  the  brawniest  breed  of 
orators  and  bards  ; 

Where  the  city  stands  that  is  beloved  by  these,  and 
loves  them  in  return,  and  understands  them  ; 

Where  no  monuments  exist  to  heroes,  but  in  the  com- 
mon words  and  deeds  ; 

Where  thrift  is  in  its  place,  and  prudence  is  in  its  place  ; 

Where  the  men  and  women  think  lightly  of  the  laws  ; 

Where  the  slave  ceases,  and  the  master  of  slaves  ceases  ; 

Where  the  populace  rise  at  once  against  the  never- 
ending  audacity  of  elected  persons  ; 

Where  fierce  men  and  women  pour  forth,  as  the  sea  to 
the  whistle  of  death  pours  its  sw^eeping  and  un- 
rijit  waves  ; 

Where  outside  authority  enters  always  after  the  preced- 
ence of  inside  authority ; 

Where  the  citizen  is  always  the  head  and  ideal — and 
President,  Mayor,  Governor,  and  what  not,  arc 
agents  for  pay  ; 

Where  children  are  taught  to  bo  laws  to  themselves, 
and  to  depend  on  thtniselves  ; 


Song  of  the  l3noAD-Ax£. 


171 


"Svlierc  equanimity  is  ilkistrated  in  affairs  ; 
Where  speculations  on  the  Soul  are  encouraged  ; 
Where  women  walk  in  public  processions  in  the  streets, 

the  same  as  the  men, 
V»^here  they  enter  the  public  assembly  a.nd  take  places 

the  same  as  the  men  ; 
Where  the  city  of  the  faithfulest  friends  stands  ; 
Where  the  city'  of  the  cleanliness  of  the  sexes  stands  ; 
Where  the  city  of  the  healthiest  fathers  stands  ; 
W^here  the  city  of  the  best-bodied  mothers  stands. 
There  the  great  city  stands. 

6 

'^  How  beggarly  appear  arguments  before  a  defiant  deed! 
How  the  floridness  of  the  materials  of  cities  shrivels 
before  a  man's  or  woman's  look  ! 

'^  All  waits,  or  goes  by  default,  till  a  strong  being  ajD- 
pears  ; 

A  strong  being  is  the  proof  of  the  race,  and  of  the  abil- 
ity of  the  universe  ; 

When  he  or  she  appears,  materials  are  overaw'd. 

The  dispute  on  the  Soul  stojDS, 

The  old  customs  and  phrases  are  confronted,  turn'd 
back,  or  laid  away. 

'^  W^hat  is  your  money-making  now?  what  can  it  do  now? 

What  is  your  respectability  now  ? 

What   are  your   theology,  tuition,  society,   traditions, 

statute-books,  now? 
Wliere  are  your  jibes  of  being  now? 
Where  are  your  cavils  about  the  Soul  now  ? 


"  A  sterile  landscape  covers  the  ore — there  is  as  good 
as  the  best,  for  all  the  forbidding  appearance  ; 

There  is  the  mine,  there  are  the  miners  ; 

The  forge-furnace  is  there,  the  melt  is  accomplish'd  ; 
the  hammers-men  are  at  hand  with  their  tongs 
and  hammers  ; 

What  always  served,  and  always  serves,  is  at  hand. 


172  Leaves  of  Gkas?. 

'°  Than  tliis,  nothing  has  better  served — it  has  served  all  : 
Served  the  fluent-tonguod  and  subtle-sensed  Greek,  and 

long  ere  the  Greek  : 
Served  in  building  the  buildings  that  last  longer  than 

any; 
Served  the  Hebrew,  the  Persian,  the  most  ancient  Hin- 

dostanee  ; 
Served  the  mound-raiser  on  the   Mississippi — served 

those  whose  relics  remain  in  Cent]-al  America  ; 
Served  Albic  temples  in  woods  or  on  plains,  with  un- 
hewn pillars,  and  the  druids  ; 
Served  the  artificial   clefts,   vast,  high,  silent,  on  the 

snow-cover'd  hills  of  Scandinavia  ; 
Served  those  who,  time  out  of  mind,  made  on  the  gran- 
ite walls  rough  sketches  of  the  sun,  moon,  stars, 

ships,  ocean-waves  ; 
Served  the  paths  of  the  irruptions  of  the  Goths — served 

the  pastoral  tribes  and  nomads  ; 
Served  the  long,  long   distant  Kelt — served  the  hardy 

jDirates  of  the  Baltic  ; 
Served  before  any  of  those,  the  venerable  and  harmless 

men  of  Ethiopia  ; 
Served  the  making  of  helms  for  the  galleys  of  pleasure, 

and  the  making  of  those  for  war  ; 
Served  all  great  works  on  land,  and  all  great  works  on 

the  sea  ; 
For  the  mediaeval  ages,  and  before  the  mediaeval  ages  ; 
Served  not  the  living  only,  then  as  now,  but  served  the 

dead. 


'®  I  see  the  European  headsman  ; 

He  stands  mask'd,  clothed  in  red,  with  huge  legs,  and 

strong  naked  arms. 
And  leans  on  a  ponderous  axe. 

''  (Whom  have  you  slaughter'd  lately,  European  heads- 
man? 
Whose  is  that  blood  upon  you,  so  wet  and  sticky  ?) 


I  see  the  clear  sunsets  of  the  martyrs  ; 


Song  of  the  Beoad-Ase.  173 

I  see  from  tlie  scaffolds  tlie  descending  ghosts, 
Ghosts  of  dead  lords,  nncrown'd  ladies,  impeach'd  min- 
isters, rejected  kings. 
Rivals,  traitors,  poisoners,  disgraced  chieftains,  and  the 
rest, 

"  I  see  those  who  in  any  land  have  died  for  the  good 

cause ;    - 
The  seed  is  spare,  nevertheless  the  crop  shall  never  run 

out ; 
(Mind  you,  O  foreign  kings,  O  priests,  the  crop  shall 

never  run  out.) 

•"  I  see  the  blood  wash'd  entirely  away  from  the  axe  ; 
Both  blade  and  helve  are  clean  ; 

They  spirt  no  more  the  blood  of  Euro2)ean  nobles — 
they  clasp  no  more  the  necks  of  queens. 

'•'  I  see  the  headsman  withdraw  and  become  useless  ; 
I  see  the   scaffold  untrodden  and  mouldy — I  see  no 

longer  any  axe  upon  it ; 
I  see  the  mighty  and  friendly  emblem  of  the  power  of 

my  own  race — the  newest,  largest  race. 

9 

■-  (America !  I  do  not  vaunt  my  love  for  you  ; 
I  have  what  I  have.) 

'^  The  axe  leaps ! 

The  solid  forest  gives  fluid  utterances  ; 

They  tumble  forth,  they  rise  and  form, 

Hut,  tent,  landing,  survey, 

Flail,  plough,  pick,  crowbar,  spade, 

Shingle,  rail,  prop,  wainscot,  jamb,  lath,  panel,  gable. 

Citadel,  ceiling,  saloon,  academy,  organ,  exhibition- 
house,  library. 

Cornice,  trellis,  pilaster,  balcony,  window,  shutter,  tur- 
ret, porch. 

Hoe,  rake,  pitch-fork,  pencil,  wagon,  staff,  saw,  jack- 
plane,  mallet,  wedge,  rounce. 


174  Leaves  of  Geass. 

Chair,  tub,  lioop,  table,  wiclcet,  vane,  sasb,  floor. 
Work -box,  chest,  string'd  instrument,  boat,  frame,  and 

what  not, 
Capitols  of  States,  and  capitol  of  the  nation  of  States, 
Long  stately  rows  in  avenues,  hospitals  for  orphans,  or 

for  the  XDOor  or  sick, 
Manhattan  steamboats  and  clippers,  taking  the  measure 

of  all  seas. 

**  The  shapes  arise ! 

Shapes  of  the  using  of  axes  anyhow,  and  the  users,  and 
all  that  neighbors  them. 

Cutters  down  of  wood,  and  haulers  of  it  to  the  Penob- 
scot or  Kennebec, 

Dwellers  in  cabins  among  the  Cahfornian  mountains,  or 
by  the  little  lakes,  or  on  the  Columbia, 

Dwellers  south  on  the  banks  of  the  Gila  or  Eio  Grande 
— friendly  gatherings,  the  characters  and  fun, 

Dwellei'S  up  north  in  Minnesota  and  by  the  Yellowstone 
river — dwellers  on  coasts  and  ofl"  consts. 

Seal-fishers,  whalers,  arctic  seamen  breaking  passages 
throiigh  the  ice. 

'^  The  shapes  arise ! 

Shapes  of  factories,  arsenals,  foundries,  markets  ; 
Shapes  of  the  two-threaded  tracks  of  railroads  ; 
Shapes  of   the   sleej)ers  of  bridges,   vast  fi'ameworks, 

girders,  arches  ; 
Shapes  of  the  fleets  of  barges,  tows,  lake  and  canal  craft, 

river  craft. 

-"  The  shapes  arise ! 

Ship-j'ards  and  dry-docks  along  the  Eastern  and  Vt^est- 
ern  Seas,  and  in  many  a  bay  and  by-place, 

The  live-oak  kelsons,  the  pine  planks,  the  spars,  the 
hackmatack-roots  for  knees. 

The  ships  themselves  on  then-  ways,  the  tiers  of  scaf- 
folds, the  workmen  busy  outside  and  inside. 

The  tools  lying  around,  the  great  auger  and  litib  iiuger, 
the  adze,  bolt,  line,  square,  gouge,  {;nd  bead- 
plane. 


Song  of  the  Ehoad-Axe.  175 

10 

^  The  sliapes  arise ! 

The  shape  measur'd,  saw'cT,  jack'd,  join'd,  stain'd, 

The  cofiin-shape  for  the  dead  to  lie  within  in  his  shroud ; 

The  shape  got  out  in  posts,  in  the  bedstead  posts,  in 

the  posts  of  tiie  bride's  bed  ; 
The  shape  of  the  little  troiigh,  the  shape  of  the  rockers 

beneath,,  the  shape  of  the  babe's  cradle  ; 
The   shape   of    the   floor-planks,   the   floor-planks  for 

dancers'  feet ; 
The  shape  of  the  planks  of  the  family  home,  the  home 

of  the  friendly  parents  and  children, 
The  shape  of  the  roof  of  the  home  of  the  happy  young 

man  and  woman — the  roof  over  the  well-married 

young  man  and  woman, 
The  roof  over  the  supper  joyously  eook'd  by  the  chaste 

wife,  and  joyously  eaten  by  the  chaste  husband, 

content  after  his  day's  work. 

-^  The  shapes  arise ! 

The  shape  of  the  prisoner's  place  in  the  court-room,  and 
of  him  or  her  seated  in  the  place  ; 

The  shape  of  the  liquor-bar  lean'd  against  by  the  young 
rum-drinker  and  the  old  rum-drinker  ; 

The  shape  of  the  shamed  and  angry  stairs,  trod  by 
sneaking  footsteps  ; 

The  shape  of  the  sly  settee,  and  the  adulterous  un- 
wholesome coi^ple  ; 

The  shape  of  the  gambling-board  with  its  devilish  v;in- 
nings  and  losings ; 

The  shape  of  the  step-ladder  for  the  convicted  and  sen- 
tenced murderer,  the  mtu'derer  with  haggard 
face  and  pinion'd  arms, 

The  sheriff  at  hand  with  his  deputies,  the  silent  and 
white-lipp'd  crovvd,  the  dangling  of  the  rope. 

-'  The  shapes  arise  ! 

Shapes  of  doors  giving  many  exits  and  entrances  ; 

The  door  passing  the  dissever'd  friend,  flush'd  and  in 

haste  ; 
The  door  that  admits  good  news  and  bad  news  ; 


176  Leaves  oir  Grass. 

The  door  -whence  the  son  left  home,  confident  and 
pufc'd  up  ; 

The  door  he  euter'd  again  from  a  long  and  scandalous 
absence,  diseas'd,  broken  down,  without  inno- 
cence, without  means. 

11 

^'  Her  shape  arises, 

She,  less  guarded  than  ever,  yet  more  guarded  than 

ever ; 
The  gross  and  soil'd  she  moves  among  do  not  make  her 

gross  and  soil'd  ; 
She  knows  the  thoughts  as  she  passes — nothing  is  con- 

ceal'd  from  her ; 
She  is  none  the  less  considerate  or  friendly  therefor  ; 
She  is  the  best  belov'd — it  is  without  exception — she 

has  no  reason  to  fear,  and  she  does  not  fear  ; 
Oatlis,  quarrels,  hiccupp'd  songs,  smutty  expressions, 

are  idle  to  her  as  she  passes  ; 
She  is  silent — she  is  possess'd  of  herself — they  do  not 

offend  her  ; 
She  receives  them  as  the  laws  of  nature  receive  them 

— she  is  strong. 
She  too  is  a  law  of  nature — there  is  no  law  stronger 

than  she  is. 

12 

"'  The  main  shapes  arise ! 

Shapes  of  Democracy,  total — result  of  centuriea  ; 

Shapes,  ever  projecting  other  shapes  ; 

Shapes  of  turbulent  manly  cities  ; 

Shapes  of  the   friends  and  home-givers  of  the  whole 

earth, 
Shapes  bracing  the  earth,  and  braced  with  the  whole 

earth. 


I 


Leaves  of  Grass. 


Song  of  the  Open  Road. 


'  Afoot  aud  ligat-liearted,  I  take  to  the  oj^en  road. 
Healthy,  free,  the  world  before  me, 
The  long-  brown  j)ath  before  me,  leading  wherever  I 
choose. 

■  Henceforth  I  ask  not  good-fortune — I  myself  am  good- 
fortune  ; 

Henceforth  I  whimper  no  more,  postpone  no  more, 
need  nothing, 

Strong'  and  content,  I  travel  the  open  road. 

^  The  earth — that  is  sufficient ; 

I  do  not  want  the  constellations  any  nearer  ; 

I  know  they  are  '.'ery  well  where  they  are  ; 

I  know  they  suffice  for  those  who  belong  to  them. 

*  (Still  here  I  carry  my  old  delicious  burdens  ; 

I  carry  them,  men  and  women — I  carry  them  with  me 

wherever  I  go  ; 
I  swear  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  get  rid  of  them  ; 
I  am  fih'd  with  them,  and  I  will  fill  them  in  return.) 


'  You  road  I  enter  upon  and  look  around !  I  believe 

you  are  not  all  that  is  here  ; 
I  believe  that  much  unseen  is  also  here. 


178  Leaves  cf  Gka3S. 

^  Here  tlie  prof otind  lesson  of  reception,'  neither  prefer- 
ence or  denial ; 

The  black  with  his  woolly  head,  the  felon,  the  discas'd, 
the  illiterate  per  sod,  are  not  denied  ; 

The  birth,  the  hasting  after  the  physician,  the  beggar's 
tramp,  the  drunkard's  stagger,  the  laughing  party 
of  mechanics, 

The  escaped  youth,  the  rich  person's  carriage,  the  fop, 
the  elo23ing  couple, 

The  early  raarket-man,  the  hearse,  the  moving  of  fur- 
niture into  the  tov/n,  the  return  back  from  the 
town, 

They  pass — I  also  pass — anything  passes — none  can  be 
interdicted  ; 

None  but  are  accepted — none  but  are  dear  to  me. 


'  You  air  that  serves  me  with  breath  to  sjieak ! 

You  objects  that  call  from  diffusion  my  meanings,  and 
give  them  shape ! 

You  light  that  wraps  me  and  all  things  in  dehcate 
equable  showers ! 

You  paths  worn  in  the  irregular  hollows  by  the  road- 
sides ! 

I  think  you  are  latent  with  unseen  existences — you  are 
so  dear  to  me. 

^  You  flagg'd  walks  of  the  cities !  you  strong  cui'bs  at 
the  edges ! 

You  femes  I  you  planks  and  posts  of  wharves !  you 
timber-lined  sides!  you  clistant  ships! 

You  rows  of  houses  !  you  wiudow-pierc'd  facades  I  you 
roofs ! 

You  porches  and  entrances!  you  copings  and  iron 
guards ! 

You  windows  whose  transparent  shells  might  expose  so 
much ! 

You  doors  and  ascending  steps !  you  arches ! 

You  gray  stones  of  interminable  pavements !  you  trod- 
den crossings ! 


Song  oy  the  Op::n  1io.'u).  179 

From  all  that  has  been  near  yon,  I  believe  yon  have  im- 
parted to  j'oni'selves,  and  nov/  wonld  impart  the 
same  secretly  to  me  ; 

From  the  living  and  the  dead  I  think  yon  have  peopled 
3'oiu'  impassive  surfaces,  and  the  spirits  thereof 
would  be  evident  and  amicable  with  me. 


^  The  earth  expanding  right  hand  and  left  hand, 

The  jjicture  alive,  every  part  in  its  best  light, 

The  music  falling  in  where  it  is  wanted,  and  stopping 

v.'here  it  is  not  wanted. 
The  cheerful  voice  of  the  public  road — the  gs^j  fresh 

sentiment  of  the  road. 

'"  O  highway  I  travel !  O  public  road !  do  you  say  to 

me,  Do  not  leave  me  ? 
Do  you  say.  Venture  not  ?     If  you  leave  me,  you  are  lost  ? 
Do  you  sa,y,  I  am  already  prepared — 1  am  iDeil-heaten  and 

undented — adhere  to  me? 

"  0  public  road!   I  say  back,  I  am  not  afraid  to  leave 

you — yet  I  love  you  ; 
You  express  me  better  than  I  can  express  myself  ; 
You  shall  be  more  to  me  than  my  poem. 

'•  I  thiiik  heroic  deeds  were   all  conceiv'd  in  the  open 

air,  and  all  great  poems  also  ; 
I  think  I  could  stop  here  myself,  and  do  miracles  ; 
(My  judgments,  thoughts,  I  henceforth  try  by  the  open 

air,  the  road  ;) 
I  think  whatever  I  shall  meet  on  the  road  I  shall  like, 

and  whoever  beholds  me  shall  like  me  ; 
I  think  whoever  I  see  must  be  hapx^y. 

5 

'^  From  this  hour,  fi-eedom ! 

From  this  hour  I  ordain  myself  loos'd  of  limits  and 

imaginary  lines, 
Groing  where  I  list,  my  own  master,  total  and  absolute. 


180  Leaves  of  Geass. 

Listening  tootliers,  and  considering  well  what  they  say, 
Pausing,  searching;  receiving,  contemj)lating, 
Gently,  but  with  undeniable  will,  divesting  myself  of 
the  holds  that  would  hold  me. 

"  I  inhale  great  draughts  of  space  ; 
The  east  and  the  west  are  mine,  and  the  north  and  the 
south  are  mine. 

'^  I  am  liu'ger,  better  than  I  thought ; 
I  did  not  knov/  I  held  so  much  goodness. 

'^  All  seems  beautiiul  to  me  , 

I  can  repeat  over  to  men  and  women.  You  have  done 
such  good  to  me,  I  v/ould  do  the  same  to  yovi. 

"  I  will  recruit  for  myself  and  you  as  I  go  ; 

I  will  scatter  myself  among  men  and  women  as  I  go  ; 

I    will  toss  the  ncv/  gladness   and   roughness  among 

them  ; 
Whoever  denies  me,  it  shall  not  trouble  me  ; 
Whoever  accepts  me,  he  or  she  shall  be  blessed,  and 

shall  bless  ms. 

6 

'^  Now  if  a  thousand  perfect  men  v/ere  to  appear,  it 

would  not  amaze  me  ; 
Now  if  a  thousand  beautiful  forms  of  women  appear' d, 

it  would  not  astonish  me. 

'^  Now  I  sec  the  secret  of  the  making  of  ihe  best  per- 
sons, 

It  is  to  grov/  in  the  open  air,  and  to  eat  and  sleep  with 
the  earth. 

^°  Here  a  great  personal  deed  has  room  ; 

A  great  deed  seizes  upon  the  hearts  of  the  whole  race 

of  men, 
Its  effusion  of  sti-eugth  and  will  overvrhelm^  liw,  and 

mocks  all  authority  and  nil  argument  against  it. 


SoNa  OF  THi;  Open  Road.  181 

■^'  Here  is  the  test  of  wisdom  ; 

Wisdom  is  not  finally  tested  in  schools  ; 

Wisdom  cannot  be  pass'd  from  one  having  it,  to  an- 
other not  having  it ; 

Wisdom  is  of  the  Son!,  is  not  susceptible  of  proof,  is 
its  own  proof. 

Applies  to  all  stages  and  objects  and  qualities,  and  is 
content,- 

Is  the  certainty  of  the  reality  and  immortality  of  things, 
and  the  excellence  of  things  ; 

Something  there  is  in  the  float  of  the  sight  of  things 
that  provokes  it  out  of  the  Soul. 

■-  Now  I  reexamine  philosophies  and  religions, 

They  may  prove  well  in  lecture-rooms,  yet  not  prove  at 

all  under  the    spacious  clouds,   and   along   the 

landscape  and  flowing  currents. 

■^  Here  is  realization  ; 

Here  is  a  man  tallied — he  realizes  here  what  he  has  in 

him  ; 
The  past,  the  future,  majesty,  love — if  they  are  vacant  of 

you,  you  are  vacant  of  them. 

'^  Only  the  kernel  of  every  object  nourishes  ; 
Where  is  he  who  tears  off  the  husks  for  you  and  me  ? 
Where  is  he  that  undoes  stratagems  and  envelopes  for 
you  and  me  ? 

•'  Here  is  adhesiveness — it  is  not  previously  fashion'd — 

it  is  aprojDOS  ; 
Do  yon  know  what  it  i?,  as  you  pass,  to  be  loved  by 

strangers  ? 
Do  you  know  the  talk  of  those  tiu'ning  eye-balls  ? 


^^  Here  is  the  efclux  of  the  Soul ; 

The  efflux  of  the  Soul  comes  from  within,  through  em- 

bower'd  gates,  ever  provoking  questions  : 
These  yearnings,  why  are  they?    These  thoughts  in  the 

darkness,  why  are  they  ? 


182  Leaves  oe  Gdass. 

Why  are  tliere  men  and  women  tliat  while  they  are 
nigh  me,  the  sun-hght  expands  my  blood  ? 

Why,  when  they  leave  me,  do  my  pennants  of  joy  cinli 
flat  and  lank? 

Why  are  there  trees  I  never  walk  under,  but  large  and 
melodious  thoughts  descend  upon  me  ? 

(I  think  they  hang  there  winter  and  summer  on  those 
trees,  and  always  drop  fruit  as  I  pass;) 

Vv^'hat  is  it  I  interchange  so  suddenly  with  strangers? 

What  with  some  di'iver,  as  I  ride  on  the  seat  by  his 
side  ? 

What  with  some  fisherman,  drawing  his  seine  by  the 
shore,  as  I  walk  by,  and  pause  ? 

What  gives  me  to  be  free  to  a  woman's  or  man's  good- 
will ?     What  gives  them  to  be  free  to  mine  ? 


"  The  efilus  of  the  Soul  is  happiness — here  is  happi- 
ness ; 
I  think  it  pervades  the  open  air,  waiting  at  all  times  ; 
Now  it  flows  unto  us — we  are  rightly'  charged. 

"^  Here  rises  the  fluid  and  attaching  character  ; 

The  fluid  and  attaching  character  is  the  freshness  and 
sweetness  of  man  and  woman  ; 

(Tho  herbs  of  the  morning  sj^rout  no  fresher  and  sweeter 
every  day  out  of  the  roots  of  themselves,  than  it 
sprouts  fresh  and  sweet  continually  out  of  itself.) 

"  Toward  the  fluid  and  attaching  character  exudes  the 
sweat  of  the  love  of  young  and  old  ; 

From  it  falls  distill'd  the  charm  that  mocks  beauty  and 
attainments  ; 

Toward  it  heaves  the  shuddering  longing  ache  of  contact. 

9 

"''  Allons !  whoever  you  are,  come  travel  with  me ! 
Traveling  with  me,  vou  find  what  never  tires. 


Song  of  the  Open  Road.  183 

"'  The  earth  never  tires  ; 

The  earth  is  rude,  silent,  incomj^rehensible  at  first— 

Kature  is  rude  and  incomprehensible  at  first ; 
Be  not  discouraged — keep  on — there  are  divine  things, 

well  envelop'd  ; 
I  swear  to  you  there  are  divine  things  more  beautiful 

than  words  can  tell. 

°'  Aliens !  we  must  not  stop  here ! 

However  sweet  these  laid-up  stores — however  conve- 
nient this  dwelling,  we  cannot  remain  here  ; 

However  shelter'd  this  port,  and  however  calm  these 
waters,  we  must  not  anchor  here  ; 

However  welcome  the  hospitahty  that  surrounds  us,  we 
are  permitted  to  receive  it  but  a  little  while. 

10 

^^  Allons !  the  inducements  shall  be  greater  ; 
We  will  sail  pathless  and  wild  seas  ; 
We  will  go  where  winds  blow,  waves  dash,  and  the 
Yankee  clipper  speeds  by  under  full  sail. 

^^  Allons !  with  power,  liberty,  the  earth,  the  elements ! 
Health,  defiance,  gayety,  self-esteem,  curiosity  ; 
Allons !  from  all  formules ! 

From  your  formules,  O  bat-eyed  and  materialistic 
priests ! 

^'  The  stale  cadaver  blocks  up  the  passage — the  burial 
waits  no  longer. 

^^  Allons !  yet  take  warning ! 

He  traveling  with  me  needs  the  best  blood,  thews,  en- 
durance ; 

None  may  come  to  the  trial,  till  he  or  she  bring  courage 
and  health. 

^''  Come  not  here  if  you  have  already  spent  the  best  of 

yourself ; 
Only  those  may  come,  who  come  in  sweet  and  deter- 

min'd  bodies ; 


184  Leaves  of  Grass. 

No  diseas'd  person — no  rum-drinker  or  venereal  taint 
is  permitted  here. 

'^  I  and  mine  do  not  convince  by  arguments,  similes, 

rhymes  ; 
We  convince  by  our  presence. 

11 

''  Listen !  I  will  be  honest  with  you  ; 

I  do  not  offer  the  old  smooth  prizes,  but  offer  rough 

new  prizes  ; 
These  are  the  days  that  must  happen  to  you  : 

^°  You  shall  not  heap  up  what  is  call'd  riches, 

You  shall  scatter  with  lavish  hand  all  that  you  earn  or 

achieve. 
You  but  arrive  at  the  city  to  which  you  Vv^ere  destin'd — 

you  hardly  settle  yourself  to  satisfaction,  before 

you  are  call'd  by  an  irresistible  call  to  depart. 
You  shall  be  treated  to  the  ironical  smiles  and  mock- 

ings  of  those  who  remain  behind  you  ; 
What  beckonings  of  love  you  receive,  you  shall  only 

answer  with  passionate  kisses  of  parting, 
You  shall  not  allow  the  hold  of  those  who  sj)read  their 

reach'd  hands  toward  you. 

12 

■*'  AUons!  after  the  Great  Companions!  and  to  belong 
to  them ! 

They  too  are  on  the  road !  they  are  the  swift  and  ma- 
jestic men !  they  are  the  greatest  women. 

^-  Over  that  which  hinder'd  them — over  that  which  re- 
tarded— passing  impediments  large  or  small, 
Committers  of  crimes,  committers  of  many  beautiful 

virtues, 
Enjoyers  of  calms  of  seas,  and  storms  of  seas, 
Sailors  of  many  a  ship,  walkers  of  many  a  mile  of  land. 
Habitues  of  many  distant  countries,  habitues  of  far- 
distant  dwelUugs, 


Song  of  the  Open  Road.  185 

Trusters  of  men  and  women,  observers  of  cities,  solitary- 
toilers, 
Pausers  and  contemplators  of  tufts,  blossoms,  shells  of 

the  shore, 
Dancers  at  wedding-dances,  kissers  of  brides,  tender 

helpers  of  children,  bearers  of  children, 
Soldiers  of  revolts,  standers  by  gaping  graves,  lowerers 

down  of  coffins, 
Journeyers  over  consecutive  seasons,  over  the  years — 

the  curious  years,  each  emerging  from  that  which 

preceded  it, 
Journeyers   as   with   companions,    namely,    their   own 

diverse  phases, 
Forfch-steppers  from  the  latent  unrealized  baby-days, 
Journeyers   gayly  with   their  own  youth — Journeyers 

with  their  bearded  and  well-grain'd  manhood, 
Journeyers  with  their  womanhood,  ample,  unsurpass'd, 

content, 
Journeyers  with  their  own  subHuie  old  age  of  manhood 

or  womanhood. 
Old    8(g'e,   calm,   expanded,   broad   with    the  haughty 

bread bh  of  the  universe, 
Old  age,  flowing  free  with  Ihc  delicious  near-by  freedom 

of  death. 

13 

■*'  AUons !   to  that  which  is  endless,  as  it  was  begin- 

ningless. 
To  undergo  much,  tramp:",  of  days,  rests  of  nights, 
To  merge  all  in  the  travel  they  tend  to,  and  the  days  and 

nights  they  tend  to, 
Again  to  merge  them  in  the  start  of  superior  journeys  ; 
To  see  nothing  anyw^here  but  what  you  may  reach  it 

and  pass  it. 
To  conceive  no  time,  however  distant,  but  what  you 

may  reach  it  and  pass  it. 
To  look  up  or  down  no  road  but  it  stretches  and  waits 

for  you — ^however  long,  but  it  stretches  and  waits 

for  yon  ; 
To  see  no  being,  not  God's  or  any,  but  you  also  go 

thither. 


18G  Leaves  of  Gkass. 

To  see  no  possession  but  you  may  possess  it — enjoying 
all  without  labor  or  purchase — abstracting  the 
feast,  yet  not  abstracting  one  particle  of  it ; 

To  take  the  best  of  the  farmer's  farm  and  the  rich  man's 
elegant  villa,  and  the  chaste  blessings  of  the  well- 
married  couple,  and  the  fi'uits  of  orchards  and 
flowers  of  gardens, 

To  take  to  your  use  out  of  the  compact  cities  as  you 
pass  through, 

To  carry  buildings  and  streets  with  you  afterward 
wherever  you  go, 

To  gather  the  minds  of  men  out  of  their  brains  as  you 
encounter  them — to  gather  the  love  out  of  their 
hearts. 

To  take  your  lovers  on  the  road  with  you,  for  all  that 
you  leave  them  behind  you, 

To  know  the  universe  itself  as  a  road — as  many  roads — 
as  roads  for  traveling  souls. 

14 

^'  The  Soul  travels  ; 

The  body  does  not  travel  as  much  as  the  soul ; 
The  body  has  just  as  great  a  work  as  the  soul,  and  parts 
away  at  last  for  the  journeys  of  the  soul. 

^'^  All  parts  away  for  the  progress  of  souls  ; 

All  religion,  all  solid  things,  arts,  governments, — all 
that  was  or  is  apparent  upon  this  globe  or  any 
globe,  falls  into  niches  and  corners  before  the 
procession  of  Souls  along  the  grand  roads  of  the 
universe. 

■"^  Of  the  progress  of  the  souls  of  men  and  women  along 
the  grand  roads  of  the  univei'se,  all  other  progress 
is  the  needed  emblem  and  sustenance. 

"  Forever  alive,  forever  forward. 

Stately,  solemn,  sad,  withdrawn,  baffled,  mad,  turbulent, 

feeble,  dissatisfied, 
Des]oerate,  |jroud,  fond,  sick,  accepted  by  men,  rejected 

by  men, 


So:>a   OF   TH3   OPEN    EOAD.  187 

They  go  !  they  go !  I  knovv^  that  they  go,  but  I  huow 

not  where  they  go  ; 
But  I  know  that  they  go  toward  the  best — toward  sorne- 

thiug  great. 

15 

^  Allons  !  whoever  you  are  !  come  forth  ! 

You  must  not  stay  sleeping  and  dallying  there  in  the 

house,  though  you  built  it,  or  though  it  has  been 

built  for  you. 

*'  Allons  !  out  of  the  dark  confinement ! 

It  is  useless  to  protest — I  know  all,  and  expose  it. 

^°  Behold,  through  you  as  bad  as  the  rest, 

Through  the   laughter,    dancing,  dining,   supping,   of 

people. 
Inside  of  dresses  and  ornaments,  inside  of  those  wash'd 

and  trimm'd  faces, 
Behold  a  secret  silent  loathing  and  despair. 

^'  No  husband,  no  wife,  no  friend,  trusted  to  hear  the 

confession  ; 
Another  self,  a  duplicate  of  every  one,  skulking  and 

hiding  it  goes. 
Formless  and  wordless  through  the  streets  of  the  cities, 

polite  and  bland  in  the  parlors. 
In  the  cars  of  rail-roads,  in  steamboats,  in  the  public 

assembly, 
Home  to  the  houses  of  men  and  women,  at  the  table,  ia 

the  bed-room,  everywhere. 
Smartly   attired,    countenance   smiling,   form   upright, 

death  under  the  breast-bones,  heU  under   the 

skull-bones. 
Under  the  broadcloth  and  gloves,  under  the  ribbons 

and  artificial  flowers. 
Keeping  fair  with  the  customs,  speaking  not  a  syllable 

of  itself. 
Speaking  of  anything  else,  but  never  of  itself. 


188  Leaves  of  Grass. 

16 

^-  AUons  !  tliroLigli  struggles  and  wars  ! 

The  goal  tliat  was  named  cannot  be  countermanded. 

^^  Have  the  past  struggles  succeeded  ? 

What  has  succeeded?  yourself?  your  nation  ?  nature? 

Now  understand  me  well — It  is  provided  in  the  essence 
of  things,  that  from  any  fruition  of  success,  no 
matter  what,  shall  come  forth  something  to  make 
a  greater  struggle  necessary. 

"  My  call  is  the  call  of  battle — I  noui'ish  active  rebel- 
lion ; 

He  going  with  me  must  go  well  arm'd  ; 

lie  going  with  me  goes  often  with  spare  diet,  poverty, 
angry  enemies,  desertions. 

17 

'"''  Aliens  !  the  road  is  before  us ! 

It  is  safe — I  have  tried  it — my  own  feet  have  tried  it  well. 

^'  Allons  !  be  not  detain'd ! 

Let  the  paper  remain  on  the  desk  unwritten,  and  the 

book  on  the  shelf  unopen'd  ! 
Let  the  tools  remain  in  the  v/orkshop !  let  the  money 

remain  unearn'd ! 
Let  the  school  stand!  mind  not'the  cry  of  the, teacher! 
Let  the  preacher  preach  in  his  pulpit !  let  the  lawyer 

plead  in  the  court,  and  the  judge  exi^ound  the 

law. 

"  Mon  enfant !  I  give  you  my  hand  ! 

I  give  you  my  love,  more  precious  than  money, 

I  give  you  myself,  before  preaching  or  law  ; 

Will  you  give  me  yourself?  v/ill  you  come  travel  with 

me  ? 
Shall  we  stick  by  each  other  as  long  as  we  Uve  ? 


Leaves  of  Grass. 


I. Sit  and  Look  Out. 

I  SIT  and  look  out  upon  all  the  sori'ows  of  tlie  world, 
and  upon  all  oppression  and  shame  ; 

I  hear  secret  convulsive  sobs  from  joung  men,  at  an- 
guish with  themselves,  remorseful  after  deeds 
done  ; 

I  see,  in  low  life,  the  mother  misused  by  her  children, 
dying,  neglected,  gaunt,  desperate  ; 

I  see  the  wife  misused  by  her  husband— I  see  the 
treacherous  seducer  of  young  women  ; 

I  mark  the  ranklings  of  jealousy  and  unrequited  love, 
attempted  to  be  hid — I  see  these  sights  on  the 
earth  ; 

I  see  the  workings  of  battle,  pestilence,  tyranny — I  see 
martyrs  and  prisoners  ; 

I  observe  a  famine  at  sea — I  observe  the  sailors  casting 
lots  who  shall  be  kill'd,  to  preserve  the  lives  of 
the  rest ; 

I  observe  the  slights  and  degradations  cast  by  arrogant 
persons  upon  laborers,  the  poor,  and  upou  ne- 
groes, and  the  Kke  ; 

All  these — AH  the  meanness  and  agony  without  end,  I 
sitting,  look  out  upon. 

See,  hear,  and  am  silent. 


— ^vAAWsAAft/v^ 


Me   Imperturbe. 


Me  imperturbe,  standing  at  ease  in  Nature, 

Master  of  all,  or  mistress  of  all — aplomb  in  the  midst 

of  irrational  things. 
Imbued  as  they — passive,  receptive,  silent  as  they. 
Finding    my    occupation,    poverty,    notoriety,   foibles, 

crimes,  less  important  than  I  thought ; 


190  Leaves  of  Gkass. 

Me  private,  or  public,  or  menial,  or  solitary — all  these 

subordinate,  (I  am  eternally  equal  with  the  best 

— I  am  not  subordinate  ;) 
Me  toward  the  Mexican  Sea,  or  in  the  Mannahatta,  or 

the  Tennessee,  or  far  north,  or  inland, 
A  river  man,  or  a  man  of  the  woods,  or  of  any  farm-life 

of  These  States,  or  of  the  coast,  or  the  lakes,  or 

Kanada, 
Me,  wherever  my  life  is  lived,  0  to  be  self-balanced  for 

contingencies  ! 
O  to  confront  night,  storms,  himger,  ridicule,  accidents, 

rebuffs,  as  the  trees  and  animals  do. 


As  I  Lay  with  my  Head  in  your  Lap,  Camerado. 

As  I  lay  with  my  head  in  your  lap,  Camerado, 

The  confession  I  made  I  resume — what  I  said  to  you 

and  the  open  air  I  resume  : 
I  know  I  am  restless,  and  make  others  so  ; 
I  know  my  words  are  weapons,  full  of  danger,  full  of 

death  ; 
(ladeed  I  am  myself  the  real  soldier  ; 
It  is  not  he,  there,  with  his  bayonet,  and  not  the  red- 
striped  artilleryman  ;) 
For  I  confront  peace,  security,  and  all  the  settled  laws, 

to  unsettle  them  ; 
I  am  more  resolute  because  all  have  denied  me,  than  I 

could  ever  have  been  had  all  accepted  me  ; 
I  heed  not,  and  have  never  heeded,  either  experience, 

cautions,  majorities,  nor  ridicule  ; 
And  the  threat  of  what  is  call'd  hell  is  little  or  nothing 

to  me  ; 
And  the  lure  of  what  is  call'd  heaven  is  little  or  nothing 

to  me  ; 
. . .  Dear  camerado !  I  confess  I  have  ui'ged  you  onward 

with  me,  and  still  urge  you,  without  the  least 

idea  what  is  our  destination. 
Or  whether  we  shall  be  victorious,  or  utterly  quell'd  and 

defeated. 


Leaves  of  Geass. 


Crossing  Brooklyn  Ferry. 


^  Flood-tide  below  mo  !  I  watch  yoii  face  to  face  ; 
Clouds  of  the  west !  siui  there  half  an  hour  high !  I  see 
you  also  face  to  face. 

^  Crowds  of  men  and  women  attired  in  the  usual  cos- 
tumes !  how  curious  you  are  to  me  ! 

On  the  ferry-boats,  the  hundreds  and  hundreds  that 
cross,  returning  home,  are  m.ore  curious  to  me 
than  you  suppose  ; 

And  you  that  shall  cross  from  shore  to  shore  years 
hence,  are  more  to  me,  and  more  in  my  medita- 
tions, than  you  might  suppose. 


^  The  impalpable  sustenance  of  me  from  all  things,  at 
all  hours  of  the  day  ; 

The  simple,  compact,  well-join'd  scheme — myself  disin- 
tegrated, every  one  disintegrated,  yet  part  of  the 
scheme  ; 

The  similitudes  of  the  past,  and  those  of  the  future  ; 

The  glories  strung  hke  beads  on  my  smallest  sights  and 
hearings — on  the  walk  in  the  street,  and  the  pas- 
sage over  the  river  ; 

The  current  rushing  go  swiftly,  and  swimminsf  with  me 
tar  av/ay  ; 


192  Leaves  of  Gkass. 

The  other?,  tlicl  are  to  follow  nae,  the  ties  between  mo 

and  thein  ; 
The  certainty  of  others — the  life,  love,  sight,  hearing  cf 

others. 

^  Others  will  enter  the  gates  of  the  ferry,  and  cross  from 

shore  to  shore  ; 
Others  will  watch  the  run  of  the  flood-tide  ; 
Others  will  see  the  shipping  of  Manhattan  north  and 

west,  and  the  heights  of  Brooklyn  to  the  south 

and  east ; 
Others  will  see  the  islands  large  and  small ; 
Fift}'  years  hence,  others  will  see  them  as  they  cross, 

the  sun  half  an  hour  high  ; 
A  hundred  years  hence,  or  ever  so  many  hundred  years 

hence,  others  will  see  them. 
Will  enjoy  the  sunset,  the  pouring  in  of  the  flood-tide, 

the  falling-  back  to  the  sea  of  the  ebb-tide. 


'  It  avails  not,  neither  time  or  place — distance  avails 

not ; 
I  am  with  you,  you  men  and  women  of  a  generation,  or 

ever  so  many  generations  hence  ; 
I  project  myself — also  I  return — I  am  with  you,  and 

know  how  it  is. 

*  Just  as  you  feel  when  you  look  on  the  river  and  sky, 

so  I  felt  ; 
Just  as  any  of  you  is  one  of  a  living  crowd,  I  was  one 

of  a  crowd  ; 
Just  as  you  are  refresh'd  by  the  gladness  of  the  river 

and  the  bright  flow,  I  was  refresh'd  ; 
Just  as  you  stand  and  lean  on  the  rail,  yet  hiu^y  with 

the  swift  current,  I  stood,  yet  w^as  hurried  ; 
Just  as  you  look  on  the  numberless  masts  of  ships,  and 

the  tbick-stem'd  pipes  of  steamboats,  I  look'd. 

"^  I  too  many  and  many  a  time  cross'd  the  river,  the  sun 
half  an  hour  high  ; 


Cnossma  Brooklyn  Fesey.  193 

I  watcliecl   tlie  Twelfcli-montli  sea-gulls — I  saw  them 

liigli  ill  the  ail',  floating  v.'ith  motioiiles3  vviugrj, 

oscillating  their  bodies, 
I  saw  how  the  glistening  yellow  lit  up  parts  of  theii' 

bodies,  and  left  the  rest  in  strong  shadow, 
I  saw  the  slow-v,-heeling  cii-cles,  and  the  gradual  edging 

toward  the  south. 

^  I  too  saw  the   reflection  of  the  summer  sliy  in  the 

water, 
Had  my  eyes  dazzled  by  the  shimmering  track  of  beams, 
Look'd  at  the  fine  centrifugal  spokes  of  light  round  the 

shape  of  my  head  in  the  sun-lit  water, 
Look'd  on  the  haze  on  the  hills  southward  and  south- 
westward, 
Look'd  on  the  vapor  as  it  flew  in  fleeces  tinged  with 

violet, 
Look'd  towai'd  the  lower  bay  to  notice  the  arriving 

ships, 
Saw  their  approach,  saw  aboard  those  that  were  near  me, 
Sav/  the  white  sails  of  schooners  and  sloope — saw  the 

ships  at  anchor. 
The  sailors  at  work  in  the  rigging,  or  out  astride  the 

■  spars, 
The  round  masts,  the  swinging  motion  of  the  hulls,  the 

slender  serpeniine  pennants, 
The  large  and  small  steamers  in  motion,  the  pilots  in 

their  pilot-hou.ses. 
The  white  wake  left  by  the  passage,  the  quick  tremulous 

whirl  of  the  wheels. 
The  flags  of  all  nations,  the  falling  of  them  at  sun-set, 
The  scallop-edged  waves  in  the  twilight,  the  ladled  cups, 

the  frolicsome  crests  and  glistening, 
The  stretch  afar  growing  dimmer  and  dimmer,  the  gray 

walls  of  the  granite  store-houses  by  the  docks. 
On  the  river  the   shadowy  gTOup,  the  big  steam-tug 

closely  flank'd  on  each  side  by  the  barges — the 

hay-boat,  the  belated  lighter. 
On  the  neighboring  shore,  the  tires  from  the  foundry 

chimneys  burning  high  and  glaringly  into  the 

night, 

9 


19-1  Leaves  of  Grass. 

Casting  their  flicker  of  black,  contrasted  witli  wild  red 
and  yellow  liglit,  over  the  tojis  of  houses,  and 
dovv'U  into  the  clefts  of  streets. 


^  These,  and  all  else,  v/ere  to  me  the  same  as  thej  are 

to  yon  ; 
I  project  myself  a  moment  to  tell  yon — also  I  return. 

"^  I  loved  v/ell  those  cities  ; 

I  loved  well  the  stately  and  rapid  river  ; 

The  men  and  women  I  saw  were  all  near  to  me  ; 

Others  the  same — others  who  look  back  on  me,  because 
I  look'd  forward  to  them  ; 

(The  time  will  come,  though  I  stop  here  to-day  and  to- 
night.) 


"  What  is  it,  then,  between  us  ? 

YvTiat  is  the  count  of  the  scores  or  hundreds  of  years 
between  us  ? 

^"  Whatever  it  is,  it  avails  not — distance  avails  not,  and 
place  avails  not. 

6 

"  I  too  lived — Brooklyn,  of  ample  hills,  was  mine  ; 

I   too   walk'd   the   streets   of   Manhattan   Island,   and 

bathed  in  the  waters  aro\iud  it ; 
I  too  felt  the  curious  abrupt  questionings  stir  within 

me, 
In  the  day,  among  crowds  of  people,  sometimes  the}' 

came  upon  me. 
In  my  walks  home  late  at  night,  or  as  I  lay  in  my  bed, 

they  came  ujoon  me. 

"  I  too  had  been  struck  fi'om  the  float  forever  held  in 

solution  ; 
I  too  had  receiv'd  identity  by  my  Body  ; 


Ceossing  BeooklyX'I  Feeey.  .  195 

That  I  was,  I  knew  was  of  my  body — and  wliat  I  should 
be,  I  knew  I  should  bo  of  my  body. 


'^  It  is  not  upon  you  alone  the  dark  patches  fall, 
The  dark  threw  patches  down  upon  me  also  ; 
The  best  I  had  dolie  seem'd  to  me  blank  and  suspicious  ; 
My  groat  thoughts,  as  I  supposed  them,  were  they  not 

in  reality  meagre  ?  v;ould  not  people  laugh  at 

me  ? 

'^  It  is  not  you  alone  who  know  what  it  is  to  bo  evil ; 
I  am  he  who  knew  what  it  was  to  be  evil ; 
I  too  knitted  the  old  knot  of  contrariety, 
Blabb'd,  blush'd,  resented,  lied,  stole,  grudg'd, 
Had  guile,  anger,  lust,  hot  wishes  I  dared  not  speak. 
Was  wayward,  vain,   greedy,    shallow,    i:lj,   cowardly, 

malignant ; 
The  wolf,  the  snake,  the  hog,  not  wanting  in  me, 
The  cheating  look,  the  frivolou'j  word,  the  adulterourj 

wish,  not  wanting, 
Refusals,  hates,  postponements,  mcauncss,  laziness,  none 

of  these  ^yantinp•. 


"  But  I  was  Manhattan  ese,  friendly  and  proud ! 

I  was  call'd  by  my  nighest  name  by  clear  loud  voices 

of  young  men  as  they  saw  me  approaching  or 

passing, 
Felt  their  arms  on  my  neck  as  I  stood,  or  the  negligent 

leaning  of  their  flesh  against  me  as  I  sat. 
Saw  many  I  loved  in  the  street,  or  ferry-boat,  or  public 

assembly,  yet  never  told  them  a  word. 
Lived  the  same  life  with  the  rest,  the  same  old  laughing, 

gnawing,  sleeping, 
Play'd  the  part  that  still  looks  back  en  the  actor  or 

actress, 
The  same  old  role,  the  role  that  is  what  avo  make  it,  as 

great  as  we  like. 
Or  as  small-as  we  like,  or  both  great  and  small. 


19G  Leaves  of  G-eass. 

9 

'^  Closer  yet  I  apj^roacli  you  ; 

What  thought  you  have  of  mo,  I  had  as  much  of  you 

— I  laid  iu  my  stores  iu  advance  ; 
I  consjder'd  long-  and  seriously  of  you  before  you  vv-ero 

born. 

'*  Who  was  to  know  what  should  come  home  to  mo  ? 
Who  knows  but  I  am  enjoying  this  ? 
Who  knows  but  I  am  as  good  as  looking  at  you  now, 
for  all  you  cannot  see  me  ? 

■^  It  is  not  you  alone,  nor  I  alone  ; 

Not  a  few  races,  nor  a  few  g'enerations,  nor  a  few  cen- 
turies ; 

It  is  that  each  came,  or  comes,  or  shall  como,  from  its 
due  emission, 

From  the  general  centre  of  all,  and  forming  a  part 
of  all  : 

Everything  indicates— the  smallest  does,  and  the  largest 
does  ; 

A  necessary  film  envelopes  all,  and  envelops  the  Soul 
for  a  proper  time. 

10 

^'  Now  I  am   curious   what   sight   can  ever  be  more 

stately  and   admirable   to   me   than   my   mast- 

hemm'd  Manhattan, 
My  river  and  sun-set,   and  my  scallop-edg'd  waves  of 

flood-tide. 
The  sea-gulls  oscillating  tbeir  bodies,  the  hay-boat  in 

the  twilight,  and  the  belated  lighter  ; 
Curious  what  G-ods  can  exceed  these  that  clasp  me  by 

the  hand,  and  with  voices  I  love  call  me  promptly 

and  loudly  by  my  nigh  est  name  as  I  approach  ; 
Carious  what  is  more  subtle  than  this  which  ties  me  to 

the  woman  or  man  that  looks  in  my  face, 
Which  fuses  me  into  you  now,  and  i^oui's  my  meaning 

into  you. 

■^  We  understand,  then,  do  we  not  ? 


i 


CEOSsiNa  Bkooklyii  FEEr.y.  197 

YvTaat  I  promis'd  without  mentioning'  it,  have  jou  not 

accepted  ? 
What  the  study  could  not  teach — what  the  preaching 

could  not  accomplish,  is  accomplish'd,  is  it  not  ? 
Y/hat  the  push  of  reading  could  not  start,  is  started  by 

me  personally,  is  it  not  ? 

11 

"  Flow  on,  river !  flow  with  the  flood-tide,  and  ebb  with 
the  ebb-tide ! 

Frolic  on,  crested  and  scallop-edg'd  waves ! 

Goi'geous  clouds  of  the  sun-sot !  drench  with  your 
splendor  me^  or  the  men  and  women  generations 
after  me  ; 

Cross  from  shore  to  shore,  countless  crowds  of  passen- 
gers ! 

Stand  up,  tall  masts  of  Mannahatta  ! — stand  up,  beau- 
tiful hills  of  Brooklyn  ! 

Throb,  baffled  and  curious  brain !  throw  out  questions 
and  answers ! 

Suspend  here  and  everywhere,  eternal  float  of  solution 

Gaze,  loving  and  thirsting  eyes,  in  the  house,  or  street, 
or  public  assembly! 

Sound  out,  voices  of  young  men  !  loudly  and  musically 
call  me  by  my  nighest  name! 

Live,  old  life  !  play  the  part  that  looks  back  on  the 
actor  or  actress  ! 

Play  the  old  role,  the  role  that  is  great  or  small,  ac- 
cording as  one  makes  it ! 

Consider,  you  who  peruse  me,  whether  I  may  not  in 
unknown  ways  be  looking  upon  you  ; 

Ee  firm,  rail  over  the  river,  to  supj)ort  those  who  lean 
idly,  yet  haste  with  the  hasting  current ; 

Fly  on,  sea-birds !  fly  sideways,  or  wheel  in  large  cir- 
cles high  in  the  air  ; 

Receive  the  summer  sky,  you  water !  and  faithfully  hold 
it,  tni  all  downcast  eyes  have  time  to  take  it 
from  you  ; 

Diverge,  fine  spokes  of  Hght,  from  the  shape  of  my 
head,  or  any  one's  head,  in  the  sun-lit  water  ; 


198  Lea"\TlS  of  Geass. 

Come  on,  sliips  from  the  lower  bay !  pass  up  or  down, 

white-sail'd  scliooners,  sloops,  lighters  ! 
Flaunt  away,  flags  of  all  nations!  be  duly  lower'd  at 

sunset  ; 
Burn   high  your   fires,  foundry  chimneys  !    cast  black 

shadows  at  nigtatfall !  cast  red  and  yellow  light 

over  the  tops  of  the  houses  ; 
Appearances,  now  or  henceforth,  indicate  what  you  are  ; 
You  necessary  film,  continue  to  envelop  the  soul ; 
About  my  body  for  me,  and  your  body  for  you,  be  hung 

our  divinest  aromas  ; 
Thrive,  cities!    bring    your  freight,  bring  your  shovrs, 

ample  and  sufficient  rivers  ; 
Expand,  being  than  which  none  else  is  perhaps  more 

spiritual  ; 
Keep  your  places,  objects  than  which  none  else  is  more 

lasting. 

12 

"^  We  descend  upon  you  and  all  thingo — wo  r.rrest  you 
all; 

We  realize  the  soul  only  by  you,  you  fa.tliful  solids 
and  fluids  ; 

Through  you  color,  form,  location,  sublimity,  ideality  ; 

Through  you  every  proof,  comparison,  and  all  the  sug- 
gestions and  determinations  of  ourselves. 

•^  You  have  waited,  you  always  wait,  you  dumb,  beau- 
tiful ministers !  you  novices  1 

We  receive  you  with  free  sense  at  last,. and  arc  insatiate 
henceforward  ; 

Not  you  any  more  shall  be  able  to  foil  us,  or  withhold 
yourselves  from  us  ; 

We  use  you,  and  do  not  cast  you  aside — we  plant  jxu 
permanently  within  us  ; 

Yv^e  fathom  you  not — vre  love  you — there  is  perfection 
in  you  also  ; 

You  furnish  your  parts  toward  eternity  ; 

Great  or  small,  you  furnish  yoiu'  parts  toward  the  soul. 


I 


Leavks  of  Grass.  199 

WITH   ANTECEDENTS. 
1 

'  With  antecedents  ; 

With  my  fatlaei's  and  mothers,  and  tlie  accumulations 

of  past  ages  ; 
With  all  which,  had  it  not  been,  I  would  not  now  be 

here,  as  I  am  : 
Yv^ith  Egypt,  India,  Phenicia,  Greece  and  Rome  ; 
With   the  Kelt,  the   Scandinavian,  the  Alb,   and  the 

Saxon  ; 
With  antique  maritune  ventures, — with  laws,  artizan- 

ship,  wars  and  journeys  ; 
With  the  poet,  the  skald,  the  saga,  the  myth,  and  the 

oracle  ; 
With  the  sale  of  slaves — with   enthusiasts — witli  the 

tioubadour,  the  crusader,  and  the  monk  ; 
With  those  old  continents  whence  we  have  come  to  this 

new  continent ; 
With  the  fading  kingdoms  and  kings  over  there  ; 
'With  the  fading  religions  and  priests  ; 
With  the  small  shores  we  look  back  to  from  our  ovvia 

large  and  present  shores  ; 
With  countless  years  di'awing  themselves  onward,  and 

arrived  at  these  years  ; 
You  and   Me  arrived — America  arrived,   and  making 

this  year  ; 
This  year !  sending  itself  ahead  countless  years  to  come. 

2 

-  0  but  it  is  not  the  years — it  is  I — it  is  You  ; 

We  touch  all  laws,  and  tally  all  antecedents  ; 

We  are  the  skald,  the  oracle,  the  monk,  and  the  kuight 

— Vv'e  easily  include  them,  and  more  ; 
We  stand  amid  time,  beginningless  and  endless — we 

stand  amid  evil  and  good  ; 
All  swings  around  us — there  is  as  much  darkness  as 

light; 
The  very  sun  svrings  itself  and  its  system  of  planets 

around  us  ; 
Its  siin,  and  its  again,  all  swing  around  us. 


200  Leavj^s  01''  Grass. 

^  As  for  me,  (torn,  stormy,  even  as  I,  amid  these  vehe- 
ment days,) 

I  have  the  idea  of  all,  and  am  all,  aud  believe  in  all  ; 

I  believe  materialism  is  true,  and  spiritualism  is  true — 
I  reject  no  part. 

^  Have  I  forgotten  any  part  ? 

Come  to  me,  whoever  and  whatever,  till  I  give  you 
recoguitiou. 

^  I  respect  Assyria,  China,  Teutonia,  and  the  Hebrews  ; 

I  adopt  each  theory,  myth,  god,  and  demi-god  ; 

I  see  that  the  old  accounts,  bibles,  genealogies,  are  true, 
without  exception ; 

I  assert  that  all  past  days  were  what  they  shoidd  have 
been  ; 

And  that  tlie}^  could  no-how  have  been  better  than  they 
were, 

And  that  to~daj  is  what  it  should  be — and  that  Amer- 
ica is. 

And  that  to-day  and  America  could  no-how  be  better 
than  they  are. 


®  In  the  name  of  These  States,  and  in  your  and  my 

name,  the  Past, 
And  in  the  name  of  These  States,  aud  in  your  and  my 

name,  the  Present  time. 

'  I  know  ihat  the  past  v,'ji3  great,  and  the  future  will  be 

great. 
And  I  know  that  both  curiously  conjoint  in  the  present 

time, 
(For  the  sake  of  him  I  typify — for  the  common  average 

man's  sake — your  sake,  if  you  are  he  ;) 
Aud  that  where  I  am,  or  you  are,  this  present  day,  there 

is  the  centre  of  all  days,  all  races, 
And  there  is  the  meaning,  to  us,  of  all  that  has  ever 

come  of  races  and  days,  or  ever  will  come. 


Leaves  of  Grass. 


^ 


Now  List  to  my  Morning's  Romanza. 


Now  list  to  my  morning's  romanza — I  tell  the  signs 
of  the  Aiiswerer  ; 
To  the  cities  aucl  farms  I  sing,  as  they  sj^read  in  the 
sunshine  before  me. 

-  A  young  man  comes  to  me  bearing  a  message  from 

his  brother ; 
How  shall  the  young  man  know  the  whether  and  when 

of  his  brother  ? 
Tell  him  to  send  me  the  signs. 

^  And  I  stand  before  the  young  man  face  to  face,  and 
take  his  right  hand  in  my  left  hand,  and  his  left 
hand  in  my  right  hand, 

And  I  answer  for  his  brother,  and  for  men,  and  I  an- 
swer for  him  that  answers  for  all,  and  send  these 
signs. 

2 

*  Him  all  wait  for — him  all  yield  up  to — his  word  is 
decisive  and  final. 

Him  they  accept,  in  him  lave,  in  him  perceive  them- 
selves, as  amid  light. 

Him  they  immerse,  and  he  immerses  thern. 


202  Leaves  ov  Gkaos. 

°  Beautiful  women,  the  haughtiest  nations,  laws,  the 

landscape,  people,  animals. 
The  profound  earth  and  its  attributes,  and  the  unquiet 

oc3an,  (so  tell  I  my  morning's  romanza  ;) 
All  enjoyments  and  properties,  and  money,  and  what- 
ever money  will  buy. 
The  best  farms — others  toiling  and  planting,  and  he 

unavoidably  reaps, 
The  noblest  and   costliest   cities — others  grading  and 

building,  and  he  domiciles  there  ; 
Nothing  for  any  one,  but  what  is  for  him — near  and  far 

are  for  him,  the  ships  in  the  ofQng, 
The  perpetual  shows  and  inarches  on  land,  are  for  him, 

if  they  are  for  any  body. 

^  He  puts  things  in  their  attitudes  ; 

He  puts  to-day  out  of  himself,  with  plasticity  and  love  ; 

He  places  his  own  city,  times,  reminiscences,  parents, 
brothers  and  sisters,  associations,  emplo^'ment, 
politics,  so  that  the  rest  never  shame  them  after- 
ward, nor  assume  to  command  them. 

'  He  is  the  answerer  ; 

What  can  be  answer'd  he  answers — and  vvhat  cannot  be 
ansvfer'd,  he  shows  how  it  cannot  be  answer'd. 


^  A  man  is  a  summons  and  challenge  ; 
(It  is  vain  to  skulk — Do  you  hear  that  mocking  and 
laughter  ?     Do  you  hear  the  ironical  echoes  ?) 

^  Books,  friendships,  philosophers,  priests,  action,  plea- 
sure, pride,  beat  ujo  and  down,  seeking  to  give 
satisfaction  ; 

He  indicates  the  satisfaction,  and  indicates  them  that 
beat  up  and  down  also. 

"  Whichever  the  sex,  whatever  the  season  or  place,  he 
may  go  fi'c^jhly  and  gently  and  safely,  by  day  or 
by  night ; 


k 


The  Answeuer.  203 

He  Las  tlie  pass-key  of  hearts — to  him  the  response  of 
the  prying-  of  hands  on  the  knobs. 

"  His  welcome  is  universal — the  flow  of  beauty  is  not 
more  welcome  or  universal  than  he  is  ; 

The  person  he  favors  by  day,  or  sleeps  with  at  night,  is 
blessed. 


^-  Every  existence   has  its  idiom — ever}d:hing  has  an 

idiom  and  tongue  ; 
He  resolves  all  tongues  into  his  own,  and  bestows  it 

upon  men,  and  any  man  translates,  and  any  man 

translates  himself  also  ; 
One  part  does  not  counteract  another  part — he  is  the 

joiner — he  sees  how  they  join, 

'^  He  says  indifferently  and  alike,  Hoio  arc  you,  friend? 

to  the  President  at  his  levee. 
And  he  says.  Good-day,  my  brother  !  to  Cudge  that  hoes 

in  the -sugar-field, 
And  both  understand  him,  and  knovr  that  his  speech  is 

right. 

''  He  walks  with  perfect  ease  in  the  Capitol, 
He  walks  among  the  Congress,  and  one  Representative 
says  to'  another,  Here  is  our  equal,  appearing  and 

new. 

'^  Then  the  mechanics  take  him  for  a  mechanic. 

And  the  soldiers  suj>pose  him  to  be  a  soldier,  and  the 
sailors  that  he  has  follow'd  the  sea, 

And  the  authors  take  him  for  an  author,  and  the  artists 
for  an  artist. 

And  the  laborers  perceive  he  could  labor  with  them  and 
love  them  ; 

No  matter  what  the  work  is,  that  he  is  the  one  to  fol- 
low it,  or  has  follow'd  it, 

No  matter  what  the  nation,  that  he  might  find  his 
brothers  and  sisters  there. 


204  Leaves  or  Geass. 

'®  The  English  believe  lie  com:s  of  tlieir  English  stocli:, 
A  Jew  to  the  Jew  he  seems — a  Russ  to  the  Russ — nsual 
and  near,  removed  from  none. 

^■'  Whoever  he  loolcs  at  in  the  traveler's  coffee-house 

claims  him, 
The  Italian  or  Frenchman  is  snre,  and  the  German  i3 

sure,  aud  the  Spaniard  is  sure,  and  the  island 

Cuban  is  sure  ; 
The  engineer,  the  deck-hand  on  the  great  lahes,  or  on 

the  MississipT)i,  or  St.  Lawrence,  or  Sacramento, 

or  Hudson,  or  Paumanok  Sound,  claims  him. 

'^  The  gentleman  of  perfect  blood  achnowledges  his 
perfect  blood  ; 

The  insulter,  the  prostitute,  the  angry  person,  the 
beggar,  see  themselves  in  the  v/ays  of  him — he 
strangely  transmutes  them. 

They  are  not  vile  any  more — they  hardly  know  them- 
selves, they  are  so  grown. 


The    Indications. 

'  The  indications,  and  tally  of  time  ; 

Perfect  sanity  shows  the  master  among  philosophs  ; 

Time,  always  without  flaw,  indicates  itself  in  parts  ; 

"What  always  indicates  the  poet,  is  the  crowd  of  tlio 
pleasant  company  of  singers,  and  their  words  ; 

The  words  of  the  singers  are  the  hours  or  minutes  of 
the  light  or  dark — but  the  words  of  the  maker 
of  poems  are  the  general  light  and  dark  ; 

The  maker  of  poems  settles  justice,  reality,  immor- 
tality. 

His  insight  and  power  encircle  things  ami  the  hr.rir.n 
race. 

He  is  the  glory  and  extract  thus  far,  of  things-,  and  cf 
the  human  race. 


The  Answekeh.  205 

-  The  singers  clo  not  beget — only  the  Poet  begets ; 
The.  shigers  are  "welcom'd,   understood,  appear   often 

enough — ^]jnt  rare  has  the  day  been,  likewise  the 

spot,  of  the  birth  of  the  maker  of  poems,  the 

Answerer, 
(Not  every  century,  or  every  five  centimes,  has  con- 

tain'd  such  a  day,  for  all  its  names.) 

"  The  singers  of  successive  hours  of  centuries  may  have 

ostensible  names,  but  the  name  of  each  of  them 

is  one  of  the  singers, 
The    narae    of   each   is,    eye-singer,    ear-singer,   liead- 

singer,  sweet-singer,  echo-singer,  parlor- singer, 

love-singer,  or  something  else. 

■*  All  this  time,  and  at  all  times,  wait  the  words  of  true 

poems  ; 
The  words  of  true  poems  do  not  merely  please. 
The  true  poets  are   not  followers  of  beauiy,  but  the 

august  masters  of  beauty  ; 
The  greatness  of  sons  is  the  exuding  of  the  greatness 

of  mothers  and  fathers, 
The  words  of  poems  are  the  tuft  and  final  applause  of 

science. 

*  Divine  instinct,  breadth  of  vision,  the  law  of  reason, 
health,  rudeness  of  body,  withdi-awnness, 

Gayety,  sun-tan,  air-sweetness — such  are  some  of  the 
words  of  poems. 

®  The  sailor  and  traveler  underlie  the  maker  of  poems, 
the  answerer  ; 

The  buiklei',  geometer,  chemist,  anatomist,  phrenolo- 
gist, artist — all  these  underlie  the  maker  of 
poems,  the  answerer. 

'  The  words  of  the  true  poems  give  you  more  than 

poems, 
They  give  you  to  form  for  yourself,  poems,  religions, 

pohtics,  war,  peace,  behavior,  histories,  essays, 

romances,  and  everything  else. 


206  Leaves  of  Grass. 

They  balance   ranks,    colors,   races,    creeds,   and    the 

sexes. 
They  do  not  seek  beauty — they  are  sought, 
Forever  touching  them,  or  close  upon  them,  follows 

beauty,  longing,  fain,  love-sick. 

*  They  prepare  for  death — yet  are  they  not  the  finish, 
but  rather  the  outset. 

They  bring  none  to  his  or  her  terminus,  or  to  l^e  con- 
tent and  full ; 

"Whom  they  take,  they  take  into  space,  to  behold  the 
birth  of  stars,  to  learn  one  of  the  meanings. 

To  launch  off  with  absolute  faith — to  sweep  through  the 
ceaseless  rings,  and  never  be  quiet  again. 


Poets  to  Come. 

*  Poets  to  come !  orators,  singers,  musicians  to  come ! 
Not  to-day  is  to  justif}'  me,  and  answer  what  I  am 

for  ; 
But  you,   a   new  brood,  native,   athletic,    continental, 

greater  than  before  known. 
Arouse!  Arouse — for  you  must  justify  mc — you  must 

answer. 

-  I  myself  but  v/rite  one  or  two  indicative  words  for  the 

future, 
I  but  advance  a  moment,  only  to  wheel  and  hurry  back 

in  the  darkness, 

^  I  am  a  man  who,  sauntering  along,  without  fully  stop- 
ping, turns  a  casual  look  upon  you,  and  then 
averts  his  face. 

Leaving  it  to  you  to  prove  and  define  it. 

Expecting  the  main  things  from  you. 


The  Ans<vekee.  207 


I  HEAR  America  Singing. 

I  HEA.E  America  singing,  tlie  varied  carols  I  Lear  ; 
Those  of  meclianics — each  one  singing  his,  as  it  shonltl 

be,  bhthe  and  strong  ; 
The  carpenter  singing  his,  as  he  measures  his  plank  or 

beam, 
The  mason  singing  his,  as  he  makes  ready  for  work,  or 

leaves  oii'  work  ; 
The  boatman  singing  v/hat  belongs  to  him  in  his  boat — 

the  deck-hand  singing  on  the  steamboat  deck ; 
The  shoemaker  singing  as  he  sits  on  his  bench — the 

hatter  singing  as  he  stands  ; 
The  wood-cntter's  song — the  ploughboy's,  on  his  way  in 

the  morning,  or  at  the  noon  intermission,  or  at 

sundown  ; 
The  delicious  singing  of  the  mother — or  of  the  young- 
wife  at  work^or  of  the  girl  sewing  or  washing — 

Each  singing  what  belongs  to  her,  and  to  none 

else  ; 
The  day  what  belongs  to  the  day — At  night,  the  party 

of  young  fellows,  robust,  friendly. 
Singing,   vnih.   open    mouths,    theii'   strong  melodious 

sonofs. 


208  Leaves  of  Grass. 


The  City  Dead-House. 

By  the  City  Dead-Hotise,  by  the  gate, 

As  idly  sauntering,  wending  my  way  from  the  clangor, 

I  curious  pause — for  lo  !  an  outcast  form,  a  poor  dead 
prostitute  brought ; 

Her  corpse  they  dej^osit  unclaim'd — it  lies  on  the  damp 
brick  pavement ; 

The  divine  woman,  her  body — I  see  the  Body— I  look 
on  it  alone, 

That  house  once  full  of  passion  and  beauty — ail  else  I 
notice  not  ; 

Nor  stillness  so  cold,  nor  running  water  from  faucet, 
nor  odors  morbific  impress  me  ; 

But  the  house  alone — that  wondrous  house — that  deli- 
cate fair  house — that  ruin  ! 

That  immortal  house,  more  than  all  the  rows  of  dwell- 
ings ever  built ! 

Or  white-domed  Capitol  itself,  with  majestic  figure  sui- 
mounted — or  all  the  old  high-spired  cathedrals  ; 

That  little  house  alone,  more  than  them  all — poor,  des- 
perate house ! 

Fair,  fearful  wreck  !  tenement  of  a  Soul !  itself  a  Soul ! 

Unclaim'd,  avoided  house !  take  one  breath  from  my 
tremulous  lips  ; 

Take  one  tear,  dropt  aside  as  I  go,  for  thought  of  you, 

Dead  house  of  love  !  house  of  madness  and  sin,  crum- 
bled !  crush'd ! 

House  of  life — erewhile  talking  and  laughing — but  ah, 
poor  house  !  dead,  even  then  ; 

Months,  years,  an  echoing,  garnish'd  house — but  dead, 
dead,  dead. 


A  Farm  Picture. 

Through  the  ample  open  door  of  the  peaceful  country 

barn, 
A  sun-lit  pasture  field,  with  cattle  and  horses  feediog  ; 
And  haze,  and  vista,  and  the  far  horizon,  fading  away. 


Leaves  of  Grass. 


Carol  of  Occupations, 


'  Come  closer  to  me  ; 

Push  close,  my  lovers,  and  take  the  best  I  possess ; 
Yield  closer  and  closer,  and  give  me  tlie  best  you  pos- 
sess. 

*  This  is  unfinish'd  business  with  me — How  is  it  with 

you  ? 
(I  was  chiil'd  with  the  cold  types,  cylinder,  wet  paper 

between  us.) 

^  Male  and  Female ! 

I  pass  so  poorly  v»'ith  paper  and  types,  I  must  pass  with 
the  contact  of  bodies  and  souls. 

■*  American  ma,3S03  ! 

I  do  not  tliauk  you  for  liking  me  as  I  am,  and  liking 

the  touch  of  me — 1  know  that  it  is  good  for  you 

to  do  so. 


'  This  is  the  carol  of  occupations  ; 

In  the  labor  of  engines  and  trades,  and  the  labor  of 

fields,  I  find  the  developments, 
And  find  the  eternal  meaninars. 


210      „  Leaves  of  Giuiss. 

^  Workmen  and  Workwomen ! 

Were  all  educations,  practical  and  ornamental,  well  dis- 

play'd  out  of  me,  what  would  it  amount  to  ? 
Were  I  as  the  head  teacher,  charitable  proprietor,  wise 

statesman,  what  would  it  amount  to? 
Were  I  to  you  as  the  boss  employing  and  paying  you, 

would  that  satisfy  you  ? 

'  The  Icarn'd,  virtuous,  benevolent,  and  the  usual  terms; 
A  man  hke  me,  and  never  the  usual  terms. 

®  Neither  a  servant  nor  a  master  am  I ; 

I  take  no  sooner  a  large  price  than  a  small  price — I  will 

have  my  own,  whoever  enjoys  me  ; 
I  will  be  even  with  you,  and  you  shall  be  even  with  me. 

°  If  you  stand  at  work  in  a  shop,  I  stand  as  nigh  as  the 

nighest  in  the  same  shop  ; 
If  you  bestow  gifts  on  your  brother  or  dearest  friend,  I 

demand  as  good  as  your  brother  or  dearest  friend; 
If  your  lover,  husband,  wife,  is  welcome  by  d^y  or  night, 

I  must  be  personally  as  welcome  ; 
If  you  become  degraded,  criminal,  ill,  thou  I  become  so 

for  your  sake  ; 
If  you  remember  your  foolish  and  outlaw'd  deeds,  do 

you  think  I  cannot  remember  my  oy.ti  foolibh 

and  outlaw'd  deeds  ? 
If  yoii  carouse  at  the  table,  I  carouse  at  the  opposite 

side  of  the  table  ; 
If  you  meet  some  stranger  in  the  streets,  and  love  him 

or  her — why  I  often  meet  strangers  in  the  street, 

and  love  them. 

'"  Why,  what  have  you  thought  of  yourself? 
Is  it  you  then  that  thought  yourself  less  ? 
Is  it  you  that  thought  the  President  greater  than  you? 
Or  the  rich  better  off  than  you?  or  the  educated  v/iser 
than  you  ? 

"  Because  you  are  greasy  or  pimpled,  or  that  you  were 
once  drunk,  or  a  thief, 


CaEOL    of    OcCUPATlONfc'.  211 

Or  diseas'cl,  or  rheumatic,  or  a  prostitute — or  are  so  now; 
Or  from   frivolity   or   impotence,    or   that  you  are  no 

scholar,  and  never  saw  yoiu'  name  in  print, 
Do  you  give  in  that  you  are  any  less  immortal  ? 


'■"  Souls  of  men  and  women  !  it  is  not  you  I  call  unseen, 
unheard,  untouchable  and  untouching  ; 

It  is  not  you  I  go  arg-ue  pro  and  con  about,  and  to 
settle  whether  you  are  aUve  or  no  ; 

I  own  publicly  who  you  are,  if  nobody  else  owns. 

^^  Grown,  half-grov/n,  and  babe,  of  this  country  and 
every  country,  in-doors  and  out-doors,  one  just 
as  much  as  the  other,  I  see. 

And  all  else  behind  or  through  them. 

"  The    vvife — and.  she   is   not   one   jot   less   than  the 

husband  ; 
The  daughter — and  she  is  just  as  good  as  the  sou  ; 
The   mother — and   she  is  every   bit   as   much    as  the 

father. 

'^  Offspring  of  ignorant  and  poor,  boys  apprenticed  to 
trades, 

Young  fellows  working  on  farms,  and  old  fellows  work- 
ing on  farms. 

Sailor-men,  merchant-men,  coasters,  immigrants. 

All  (h2S3  I  see — but  nigher  and  farther  the  same  I 
see  ; 

None  shall  escape  mc,  and  nono  shall  wish  to  escape 
me. 

'"  I  bring  what  you  much  need,  yet  always  have, 
Not  money,  amours,  dress,  eating,  but  as  good  ; 
I  send  no  agent  or  medium,  offer  no  representative  of 
value,  but  offer  the  value  itself. 

"  There  is  something  that  comes  home  to  one  now 
and  perpetually  ; 


212  Leaves  of  Geas3. 

It  is  not  what  is  printed,  preach'dj  discussed — it  eludes 

discussion  and  print ; 
It  is  not  to  be  put  in  a  book — it  is  not  in  this  book  ; 
It  is  for  you,  whoever  you  are — it  is  no  farther  from 

you  than  your  hearing  and  sight  are  from  you  ; 
Ifc  is  hinted  by  nearest,  commonest,  readiest — it  is  ever 

provoked  by  them. 

'®  You  may  read  in  many  languages,  yet  read  nothing 
about  it ; 

You  may  read  the  President's  Message,  and  read  noth- 
ing about  it  there  ; 

Nothing  in  the  reports  from  tha  State  department  or 
Treasury  department,  or  in  the  daily  papers  or 
the  weekly  papers. 

Or  in  the  census  or  revenue  returns,  prices  current,  or 
any  accounts  of  stock. 


"  The  sun  and  stars  that  float  in  the  open  air  ; 

The   apple-shaped  earth,  and  we  upon  it — surely  the 

drift  of  them  is  something  gTand  ! 
I  do  not  know  Vv-hat  it  is,  except  that  it  is  grand,  and 

that  it  is  happiness, 
And  that  the    enclosing  purport  of   us  here  is  not  a 

speculation,  or  bon-mot,  or  reconnoissance. 
And  that  it  is   not  something  which  by  luck  may  turn 

out  well  for  us,  and  without  luck  must  be  a  failure 

for  us. 
And  not  something  which  may  yet  be  retracted  in  a 

certain  contingency. 

-'^  The  light  and  shade,  the  curious  sense  of  body  and 
identity,  the  greed  that  with  perfect  complais- 
ance devours  all  things,  tlie  endless  jjride  and 
out-stretching  of  man,  unspeakable  joys  and 
sorrows. 

The  wonder  every  one  sees  in  every  one  else  he  sees, 
and  the  wonders  that  fill  each  minute  of  time 
forever, 


Carol  or  Occupations.  213 

What  have  you  reckon'd  them  for,  camerado  ? 

Have  you  reckou'd  them  for  a  trade,  or  farm-^vork  ?  or 
for  the  i^rofits  of  a  store  ? 

Or  to  achieve  yourself  a  position?  or  to  fill  n,  gentle- 
man's leisure,  or  a  lady's  leisui'e? 

^'  Have  you  reckon'd  the  landscape  took  subscance  and 

form  that'  it  might  be  painted  in  a  picture  ? 
Or  men  and  women  that  they  might  bo  vvritten  of,  and 

songs  sung? 
Or  the  attraction  of  gravity,  and  the  great  lavv^s  and 

harmonious  combinations,  and  the  fluids  of  the 

air,  as  subjects  for  the  savans  ? 
Or   the  brown  land   and   the  blue  sea  for  maps  and 

charts  ? 
Or  the   stars   to  be   put  in  constellations  and  named 

fancy  names  ? 
Or  that  the  growth  of  seeds  is  for  agricultural  tables, 

or  agriculture  itself? 

^-  Old  institutions — these  arts,  libraries,  legends,  col- 
lections, and  the  practice  handed  along  in  man- 
ufactures— will  we  rate  them  so  high  ? 

Will  we  rate  our  cash  and  business  high  ? — I  have  no 
objection  ; 

I  rate  them  as  high  as  the  highest — then  a  child  born 
of  a  woman  and  man  I  rate  beyond  all  rate. 

"^  We  thought  our  Union  grand,  and  our  Constitution 

grand  ; 
I  do  not  say  they  are  not  grand  and  good,  for  they  are  ; 
I  am  this  day  just  as  much  in  lov?  with  them  as  you  ; 
Then  I  am  in  love  with  you,  and  with  all  my  fellows 

upon  the  earth. 

^^  We  consider  bibles  and  religions  divine — I  do  not  say ' 

they  are  not  divine  ; 
I  say  they  have  all  gro'^\Ti  out  of  3-ou,  and  may  grow  out 

of  you  still ; 
It  is  not  they  who  give  the  life — it  is  you  who  give  the 

life; 


214  Leaves  of  Grass. 

Leaves  are  not  more  sbed  from  the  trees,  or  trees  from 
the  earth,  than  they  are  shed  out  of  yon. 


^°  "When  the  psalm  sings  instead  of  the  singer  ; 
When  the  script  preaches,  instead  of  the  preacher  ; 
"When  the  pulpit  descends  and  goes,  instead  of  the 

carver  that  carved  the  supporting  desk  ; 
When  I  can  touch  the  body  of  books,  by  night  or  by 

day,  and  when  they  touch  my  body  back  again  ; 
When  a  university  course  convinces,  hke  a  skimbering 

woman  and  child  convince  ; 
When  the   minted   gold  in  the  vault  smiles  like  the 

night-watchman's  daughter  ; 
"When  warrantee  deeds  loafe  in  chairs  opposite,  and  are 

my  friendly  companions  ; 
I  intend  to  reach  them  my  hand,  and  make  as  much  of 

them  as  I  do  of  men  and  women  like  you. 

'^  The  sum  of  all  known  reverence  I  add  up  in  you, 

whoever  you  are  ; 
The  President  is  there  in  the  White  House  for  you — it 

is  not  you  who  are  here  for  him  ; 
The  Secretaries  act  in  their  bureaus  for  you — not  you 

here  for  them  ; 
The  Congress  convenes  every  Twelfth-month  for  you  ; 
Laws,  courts,  the  forming  of  States,  the  charters  of 

cities,  the  going  and  coming  of  commerce  and 

mails,  are  all  for  you. 

^'  List  close,  my  scholars  dear ! 

All  doctrines,  all  politics  and  civilization,  cxui'ge  from 

you; 
All  sculpture  and  monuments,  and  anything  inscribed 

anywhere,  are  tallied  in  you  ; 
The  gist  of  histories  and  statistics  as  far  back  as  the 

records  reach,  is  in  you  this  hour,  and  myths  and 

tales  the  same  ; 
If  you  were  not  breathing  and  v/alking  here,  where 

would  they  all  be  ? 


Carol  of  Occupations.  215 

TliQ  most  renown'd  poems  would  be  ashes,  orations  and 
plays  would  be  vacuums. 

-^  All  arcbitecture  is  Vv'bat  you  do  to  it  when  you  look 

upon  it  ; 
(Did  you  think  it  was  in  the  white  or  gray  stone  ?  or 

the  lines  of  the  arches  and  cornices  ?) 

■^  All  music  is  what  awakes  from  you,  v»'hen  you  are 
reminded  by  the  instruments  ; 

It  is  not  the  violins  and  the  cornets— it  is  not  the  oboe 
nor  the  beating  drums,  nor  the  score  of  the 
baritone  singer  singing  his  sweet  romanza — nor 
that  of  the  men's  chorus,  nor  that  of  the  women's 
chorus. 

It  is  nearer  and  farther  than  they. 


6 

^^  Will  the  whole  come  back  then  ? 

Can  each  see  signs  of  the  best  by  a  look  in  the  looking- 
glass  ?  is  there  nothing  greater  or  more  ? 

Docs  all  sit  there  with  you,  with  the  mystic,  unseen 
Soul? 

^^  Strange  and  hard  that  parados  true  I  giA'e  ; 
Objects  gross  and  the  unseen  Soul  are  one. 

^'■^  House-building,  measuring,  sawing  the  boards  ; 

Blacksmithing,  glass-blowing,  nail-making,  coopering, 
tin-roofing,  shingle-dressing, 

Ship-joining,  dock-building,  fish-curing,  ferrying,  flag- 
ging of  side-walks  by  flaggers. 

The  pump,  the  pile-driver,  the  great  derrick,  tbo  coal- 
kiln  and  brick-kiln. 

Coal-mines,  and  all  that  is  down  there, — the  lamps  in 
the  darkness,  echoes,  songs,  what  meditations, 
what  vast  native  thoughts  looking  through 
smutch'd  faces, 


216  Leaves  of  Grass. 

Iron-works,  forge-fires  in  the  mountains,  or  by  the 
river-banks — men  around  feeling  the  melt  with 
huge  crowbars — lumps  of  ore,  the  due  combining 
of  ore,  limestone,  coal— the  blast-furnace  and  the 
puddling-furnace,  the  loup-lump  at  the  bottom 
of  the  melt  at  last — the  rolling-mill,  the  stumpy- 
bars  of  pig-iron,  the  strong,  clean-shaped  T-rail 
foi"  railroads  ; 

Oil- works,  silk-works,  white-lead- works,  the  sugar-house, 
steam-saws,  the  great  mills  and  factories  ; 

Stone-cutting,  shapely  trimmings  for  facades,  or  window 
or  door-lintels — the  mallet,  the  tooth-chisel,  the 
jib  to  protect  the  thumb, 

Oakum,  the  oakum-chisel,  the  caulking-iron — the  kettle 
of  boiling  vault-cement,  and  the  fire  under  the 
kettle, 

The  cotton-bale,  the  stevedore's  hook,  the  saw  and  buck 
of  the  sawyer,  the  mould  of  the  moulder,  the* 
working-knife  of  the  butcher,  the  icc-sav*'^,  and  all 
the  work  with  ice, 

The  implements  for  daguerreotyping — the  tools  of  the 
rigger,  grappler,  sail-maker,  block -maker. 

Goods  of  gutta-percha,  papier-mache,  colors,  brushes, 
brush-making,  glazier's  implements, 

The  veneer  and  glue-pot,  the  confectioner's  ornaments, 
the  decanter  and  glasses,  the  shears  and  flat-iron, 

The  awl  and  knee-strap,  the  pint  measure  and  quart 
measure,  the  counter  and  stool,  the  writing-pen 
of  quill  or  metal — the  making  of  all  sorts  of 
edged  tools, 

The  brewery,  brewing,  the  malt,  the  vats,  every  thing 
that  is  done  by  brewers,  also  by  A^dne-makers, 
also  vinegar-makers, 

Leather-dressing,  coach-making,  boiler-making,  rope- 
twisting,  distilling,  sign-painting,  lime- burning, 
cotton-picking  —  electro-plating,  electrotyping, 
stereotyping, 

Stave-machines,  planing-machines,  reaping-machines, 
ploughing-machiues,  thrashing-machines,  steam 
wagons, 


CAr.oL  OF  OccrPATioKS.  217 

The  cart  of  tLo  carman,  tlio  omii^U3,  tlie  ponderous 

dra  J ; 
r;5T.'oteclmy,  letimg  ou  color'd  fire -works  n,t  liiglit,  f^ncy 

figures  tiud  jets  ; 
Beef  on  the  butcher's  stall,  the  -slaughter-house  of  the 

butcher,  the  butcher  in  his  killing- clothes, 
The  pens  of  live  pork,  the  killiug-hammer,  the  hog- 
hook,   the'  scalder's    tub,    gutting,    the   cutter's 

cleaver,  the   packer's  mauJ,   and  the  plenteous 

winter-work  of  pork-packing  ; 
Flour-works,  grinding  of  wheat,  rye,  maize,  rice — the 

barrels  and  the  half   and  cjuarter  barrels,   the 

loaded  barges,  the  high  piles  on  wharves  and 

levees  ; 
The   men,  and  the   work   of    the   men,  on   railroads, 

coasters,  fish-boats,  canals  ; 
The  daily  routine  of  your  own  or  any  man's  life — the 

shop,  yard,  store,  or  factory  ; 
These  shows  all  near  you  by  day  and  night — workman  ! 

whoever  you  are,  your  daily  life  ! 
In  that  and  them  the  heft  of  the  heaviest — in  them  far 

more  than  you  estimated,  and  far  less  also  ; 
In  them  realities  for  you  and  me — in  them  poems  for 

you  and  me  ; 
In  them,  not  yourself — you  and  your  Soul  enclose  all 

things,  regardless  of  estimation  ; 
In  them  the  development  good — in  them,  all  themes 

and  hints. 

^  I  do  not  affirm  what  you  see  beyond  is  futile — I  do 

not  advise  you  to  stop  ; 
I  do  not  say  leadings  you  thought  great  are  not  great ; 
But  I  say  that  none  lead  to  greater,  than  those  lead  to. 

7 

^  Will  you  seek  afar  off?   yon  surely  come  back  at 

last. 
In  things  best  known  to  you,  finding  the  best,  or  as 

good  as  the  best. 
In  folks  nearest  to  you  finding  the  sweetest,  stronges!:, 

lovingest ; 
10 


218  Leaves  of  Grass. 

HapjDiness,  knowledge,  not  in  another  place,  but  tliis 

place — not  for  another  hour,  but  this  hour  ; 
Man  in  the  first  you  see  or  touch — always  in  friend, 

brother,  nighest   neighbor — Woman  in  mother, 

lovei*,  wife  ; 
The  popular  tastes  and  employments  taking  j^recedence 

in  poems  or  any  where, 
You  workwomen  and  workmen  of  These  States  having 

your  own  divine  and  strong  life, 
And  all  else  giving  place  to  men  and  w^omen  Hke  you. 


THOUGHTS. 


Or  ownership — As  if  one  fit  to  own  things  could  not  at 
pleasure  enter  upon  all,  and  incorporate  them 
into  himself  or  herself. 

2 

Of  waters,  forests,  hills  ; 

Of  the  earth  at  large,  whispering  through  medium  of 

me  ; 
Of  vista — Suppose   some  sight  in  arriere,  through  the 

formative  chaos,  presuming  the  growth,  fulness, 

life,  now  attain'd  on  the  journey  ; 
(But  I  see  the  road  continued,  and  the  journey  ever 

continued  ;) 
— Of  what  was  once  lacking  on  earth,  and  in  due  time 

has  become  supplied — And  of  what  will  yet  be 

supplied. 
Because  all  I  see  and  know,  I  believe  to  have  purport 

in  what  will  yet  be  supplied. 


Leaves  of  Grass. 


THE    SLEEPERS. 


'  I  WAivDER  all  nigM  in  my  vision, 

Stepping  with  light  feet,  swiftly  and  noiselessly  step- 
ping and  stopping, 

Bending  with  open  eyes  over  the  shut  eyes  of  sleepers. 

Wandering  and  confused,  lost  to  myself,  ill-assorted, 
contradictory, 

Pausing,  gazing,  bending,  and  stopping. 

"  How  solemn  they  look  there,  stretch'd  and  still ! 
How  quiet   they  breathe,  the  little  children  in   their 
cradles ! 

^  The  wretched  features  of  ennuyes,  the  v,'hite  features 
of  corpses,  the  livid  faces  of  drunkards,  the  sick- 
gray  faces  of  onanists. 

The  gash'd  bodies  on  battle-fields,  the  insane  in  their 
strong-door'd  rooms,  the  sacred  idiots,  the  new- 
born emerging  from  gates,  and  the  dying  emerg- 
ing from  gates. 

The  night  pervades  them  and  infolds  them. 

■•  The  married  couple   sleep  calmly  in   Iheir  bed — he 
with  his  palm  on  the  hip  of  the  wife,  and  she 
with  her  palm  on  the  hip  of  the  husband. 
The  sisters  sleep  lovingly  side  by  side  in  their  bed. 
The  men  sleep  lovingly  side  by  side  in  theirs. 
And  the  mother  sleeps,  with  her  little  child  carefully 
wrapt. 


220  Leaves  or  Grass. 

^  The  blind  sleep,  and  the  deaf  and  dumb  sleep, 

The  prisoner  sleej)s  well  in  the  prison — the  run-away 

son  sleej)s  ; 
The  murderer  that  is  to  be  hung  next  day — how  does 

he  sleep  ? 
And  the  murder'd  person — how  does  he  sleep  ? 

^  The  female  that  loves  unrequited  sleeps. 

And  the  male  that  loves  unrequited  sleeps. 

The  head  of  the  money-maker   that  plotted  all  day 

sleeps, 
And  the  enraged  and  treacherous  dispositions — all,  all 

sleep. 


'  I  stand  in  the  dark  with  drooping  eyes  hj  the  worst- 
suffering  and  the  most  restless, 

I  pass  my  hands  soothingly  to  and  fi'o  a  few  inches 
from  them. 

The  restless  sink  in  their  beds — they  fitfully  sleej). 

^  Now  I  pierce  the  darkness — new  beings  appear, 
The  earth  recedes  from  me  into  the  night, 
I  saw  that  it  was  beautiful,  and  I  see  that  what  is  not 
the  earth  is  beautiful, 

^  I  go  from  bedside  to  bedside — I  sleep  close  with  the 
other  sleepers,  each  in  turn, 

I  di'eam  in  my  dream  all  the  dreams  of  the  other  dream- 
ers. 

And  I  become  the  other  di'eamers. 


'°  I  am  a  dance — Play  up,  there  !  the  fit  is  whirling  me 
fast! 

'^  I  am  the  ever-laughing — it  is  new  moon  and  twi- 
light, 


The  Sleepees.  221 

I  see  the  hiding   of  douceurs — I  see  nimble  ghosts 

wbichever  way  I  look, 
Cache,  and  cache  again,  deep  in  the  ground  and  sea, 

and  where  it  is  neither  ground  or  sea. 

'-  "Well  do  they  do  their  jobs,  those  journeymen  divine, 
Only  from  me  can  they  hide  nothing,  and  would  not  if 

they  could, 
I  reckon  I  am  their  boss,  and  they  make  me  a  pet 

besides. 
And  surround  me  and  lead  me,  and  run  ahead  when  I 

walk, 
To  lift  their  cunning  covers,  to  signify  me  with  streteh'd 

arms,  and  resume  the  way  ; 
Onward  we  move  !   a  gay  gang  of  blackguards !   with 

mu'th-shouting  music,  and  wild-flapping  pennants 

of  joy ! 


'^  I  am  the  actor,  the  actress,  the  voter,  the  politician ; 
The  emigrant  and  the  exile,  the  criminal  that  stood  in 

the  box. 
He  who  has  been  famous,  and  he  who  shall  be  famous 

after  to-day, 
The  stammerer,  the  well-forin'd  person,  the  wasted  or 

feeble  person. 


"  I  am  she  who  adorn'd  herself  and  folded  her  haii" 

expectantly, 
My  truant  lover  has  come,  and  it  is  dark. 

'^  Double  yourself  and  receive  me,  darkness  ! 
Keceive  me  and  my  lover  too — he  will  not  let  me  go 
without  him. 


I  roll  myself  upon  you,  as  upon  a  bed — I  resign  my- 
self to  the  dusk. 


222  Leaves  op  Geass, 

G 

"  He  v>^liorn  I  call  answers  me,  and  takes  tlio  place  of 

my  lover, 
He  rises  with  me  silently  from  the  bed. 

'^  Darkness !  you  are  gentler  than  my  lover — his  flesli 

was  sweaty  and  panting, 
I  feel  the  hot  moisture  yet  that  he  left  me. 

'*  My  hands  are  spread  forth,  I  pass  tliem  in  all  direc- 
tions, 

I  v/ould  sound  up  the  shadowy  shore  to  which  you  are 
journeying. 

^°  Be  careful,  darkness  !   already,  what  was  it  touch'd 

me  ? 
I  thought  mj  lover  had  gone,  else  darkness  and  he  are 

one, 
I  he.ar  the  heart-beat — I  follow,  I  fade  av/ay. 


^'  O  hot-clieek'd  and  blushing  !  O  foolish  hectic  ! 

0  for  pitj'^'s  sake,  no  one  must  see  me  now  !  my  clothes 

were  stolen  while  I  was  abed, 
Now  I  am  thrust  forth,  where  shall  I  run  ? 

^-  Pier  that  I  saw  dimly  last  night,  when  I  look'd  from 

the  windows ! 
•Pier  out  from  the  main,  let  me  catch  myself  with  you, 

and  stay — I  Vt'ill  not  chafe  you, 

1  feel  ashamed  to  go  naked  about  the  world. 

^^  I  am  curious  to  know  where  my  feet  stand — and  w'hat 
this  is  flooding  me,  childhood  or  manhood — and 
the  hunger  that  crosses  the  bridge  between. 

8 

"  The  cloth  laps  a  first  sweet  eating  and  drinking, 
Laps  life-swelling  j^olks — laps  ear  of  rose-corn,  milky 
and  just  ripen'd  ; 


f 


The  Sleepers.  223 

The  wliite  teetli  stay,  and  the  boss-tootli  aclvaaccs  in 

dark  u  ess, 
And  liquor  is  spill'd  on  lijDS  and  bosoms  by  toiicliiug 

glasses,  and  the  best  liquor  afterward. 

9 

^^  I  descend  my,  western  course,  my  sinews  are  flaccid. 
Perfume  and  youth  course  through  me,  and  I  am  their 
wake. 

■'^  It  is  my  face  yellow  and  wi'inkled,  instead  of  the  old 

woman's, 
I  sit  low  in  a  straw-bottom  chair,  and  carefully  darn 

my  grandson's  stockings. 

■'  It  is  I  too,  the  sleepless  widow,  looking  out  on  the 

winter  midnight, 
I  see  the  sparkles  of  starshine  on  the  icy  and  pallid 

earth. 

^®  A  shroud  I  see,  and  I  am  the  shroud — I  wrap  a  body, 

and  lie  in  the  coffin, 
It  is  dark  here  under  ground — it  is  not  evil  or  pain  here 

— it  is  blank  here,  for  reasons. 

"'  It  seems  to  me  that  everything  in  the  light  and  air 

ought  to  be  happy, 
Whoever  is  not  in  his  coffin  and  the  dark  grave,  let  him 

know  he  has  enough. 

10 

"^  I  see  a  beautiful  gigantic  swimmer,  swimming  naked 
through  the  eddies  of  the  sea. 

His  brown  hair  lies  close  and  even  to  his  head — ho 
strikes  out  with  courageous  arms — he  urges  him- 
self with  his  legs, 

I  see  his  white  body — I  see  his  undaunted  eyes, 

I  hate  the  swift-running  eddies  that  would  dash  him 
head-foremost  on  the  rocks. 


224  Leaves  of  Gkas3. 

^'  What  are  yon  doing,  you  ruffianly  red-trickled  waves? 
"Will  you  kill  the  courageous  giant  ?  Will  you  kill  him 
in  the  prime  of  his  middle  age  ? 

^°  Steady  and  long  he  struggles, 

He  is  baffled,  bang'd,  bruis'd — he  holds  out  v.hile  his 

strength  holds  out, 
The  slapping  eddies  are  spotted  with  his  blood — they 

bear  him  away — they  roll  him,  swing  him,  turn 

him, 
His  beautiful  body  is  borne  in  the  circling  eddies,  it  is 

continually  bruis'd  on  rocks, 
Swiftly  and  out  of  sight  is  borne  the  brave  corpse. 

11 

"^  I  turn,  but  do  not  extricate  myself, 

Confused,  a  past-reading,  another,  but  with  darkness 

yet. 

^'  The  beach  is  cut  by  the  razory  ice-wind — the  wreck- 

gTius  sound, 
The  tem^Dest  lulls — the  moon  comes  floundering  through 

the  drifts. 

^^  I  look  where  the  ship  helplessly  heads  end  on — I  hear 
the  burst  as  she  strikes — I  hear  the  howls  of 
dismay — they  grow  fainter  and  fainter. 

^^  I  cannot  aid  with  my  vv^ringing  fingers, 
I  can  But  rush  to  the  surf,  and  let  it  drench  me  and 
freeze  upon  ine. 

^^  I  search  with  the  crowd — not  one  of  the  company  is 

wash'd  to  us  alive  ; 
In  the  morning  I  help  pick  up  the  dead  and  lay  them 

in  rows  in  a  barn. 

12 

^^  Nov/  of  the  older  war-days,  the  defeat  at  Brooklyn, 


The  Sleepers.  225 

Washington  stands  inside  tlie  lines — ^he  stands  on  the 
intrench'd  hills,  amid  a  crowd  of  officers, 

His  face  is  cold  and  damp — he  cannot  repress  the  weep- 
ing drops. 

He  hfts  the  glass  perpetually  to  his  eyes — the  color  is 
blanch'd  fi'om  his  cheeks. 

He  sees  the  slaughter  of  the  southern  braves  confided 
to  him  by.  their  parents. 

^^  The  same,  at  last  and  at  last,  when  peace  is  declared, 
He  stands  in  the   room  of  the   old  tavern — the  v/ell- 

belov'd  soldiers  all  joass  through, 
The  officers  speechless  and  slow  draw  near  in  their 

turns. 
The  chief  encircles  their  necks  with  his  arm,  and  kisses 

them  on  the  cheek. 
He  kisses  lightly  the  wet  cheeks  one  after  another — he 

shakes  hands,  and  bids  good-by  to  the  army. 

13 

*'^  Now  I  tell  what  my  mother  told  me  to-day  as  we  sat 

at  dinner  together. 
Of  when  she  was  a  nearly  grown  girl,  living  home  with 

her  parents  on  the  old  homestead. 

^'  A  red  squaw  came  one  breakfast  time  to  the  old 
homestead. 

On  her  back  she  carried  a  bundle  of  rushes  for  rush- 
bottoming  chairs, 

Her  hair,  straight,  shiny,  coarse,  black,  profuse,  half- 
envelop'd  her  face. 

Her  step  was  free  and  elastic,  and  her  voice  sounded 
exquisitely  as  she  spoke. 

^'^  My  mother  look'd  in  delight  and  amazement  at  the 

stranger. 
She  look'd  at  the  freshness  of  her  tall-borne  face,  and 

full  and  pliant  limbs, 
The  more  she  look'd  upon  her,  she  loved  her. 


228  Leaves  of  Guass. 

Never  before  liad  she  seen  sucli  wonderful  beauty  and 

purity, 
She  made  her  sit  on  a  bench  by  the  jamb  of  the  firc- 

l^lace — slie  cook'd  food  for  her, 
She  had  no  work  to  give  her,  but  she  gave  her  reriic!;i- 

brance  and  fondness. 

^■^  The  red  squaw  staid  all  the  forenoon,  and  toward  the 
middle  of  the  afternoon  she  went  away, 

0  my  mother  was  loth  to  have  her  go  away ! 

All  the  week  she  thought  of  her — she  watch'd  for  her 

many  a  month, 
She  remember'd  her  many  a  winter  and  many  a  summer, 
But  the  red  squaw  never  came,  nor  was  heard  of  there 

again. 

14 

*^  Now  Lucifer  was  not  dead — or  if  he  was,  I  am  his 
sorrowful  terrible  heir ; 

1  have  been  wrong'd — I  am  oppress'd — I  hate  him  that 

oppresses  me, 
I  will  either  destroy  him,  or  he  shall  release  me. 

*^  Damn  him  !  how  he  does  defile  me  ! 

How  he  informs  against  my  brother   and  sister,  and 

takes  pay  for  their  blood  ! 
How  he  laughs  when  I  look  down  the  bend,  after  the 

steamboat  that  carries  away  my  woman ! 

■*"  Now  the  vast  dusk  bulk  that  is  the  whale's  bulk,  it 
seems  mine  ; 

Warily,  sjoortsman!  though  I  lie  so  sleepy  and  slug- 
gish, the  tap  of  my  flukes  is  death. 

15 

^'  A  sliov/  of  the  siunmer  softness !  a  contact  of  some- 

tliing  unseen!  an  amoiu*  of  the  light  and  air! 
I  am  jealous,  and  overwhelm'd  with  friendliness. 
And  will  go  galhvant  Vvdth  the  light  and  air  myself. 


The  Sleepees.  227 

And  Lave  an  unseen  something  to  be  in  contact  with 
them  also. 

■^^  O  love  and  summer!  you  are  in  the  dreams,  and  in 

me ! 
Autumn  and  vs'inter  are  in  the   dreams — the   farmer 

goes  with  his  thrift, 
The  droves  and-  croj)s  increase,  and  the  barns  are  well- 

mi'd. 

16 

*•*  Elements  merge  in  the  night — ships  make  taclcs  in 

the  dreams, 
The  sailor  sails — the  exile  returns  home. 
The  fugitive  returns  unharm'd — the  immigrant  is  bach 

beyond  months  and  years. 
The  poor  Irishman  lives  in  the  simple  house  of   his 

childhood,  with  the  well-known  neighbors  and 

faces, 
They  warmly  welcome  him — he   is  barefoot  again,  he 

forgets  he  is  well  oft' ; 
The  Dutchman  voyages  home,  and  the  Scotchman  and 

Welshman  voyage  home,  and  the  native  of  the 

Mediterranean  voyages  home. 
To  every  port  of  England,  France,  Spain,  enter  well- 

fill'd  ships, 
The  Swiss  foots  it  toward  his  hills — the  Prussian  goes 

his  way,  the  Hungarian  his  way,  and  the  Pole 

his  way, 
The  Swede  returns,  and  the  Dane  and  Norwegian  re- 
turn. 

17 

^^  The  homeward  bound,  and  the  outward  bound. 
The  beautiful  lost  swimmer,  the  ennuye,  the  onanist, 
the   female  that  loves  unrequited,  the   money- 
maker, 
The  actor  and  actress,  those  through  with  their  parts, 
and  those  waiting  to  commence. 


228  Lk-iVes  of  Grass. 


The  aiieedouatG  boy,  tlie  husband  and  wife,  the  voter, 

the  nominee  that  is  chosen,  and  the  nominee  that 

ha3  fail'd, 
The  gi3ai  aheady  ]mo^vn,  and  the  great  any  time  after 

to-day, 
The  stammerer,  the  si^l^,  the  perfect-form'd,  the  homely, 
The  criminal  that   stood  in  the  box,  the  judge  that  sa: 

and  sentenced  him,  the  fluent  lawyers,  the  jury, 

the  audience, 
The   laugher   and   weeper,  the   dancer,    the   midnight 

Vv'idow,  the  red  squav,*, 
The  consumptive,  the  erysipelite,  the  idiot,  he  that  is 

wron  g'd, 
The  antipode.3,  and  every  one  between  this  and  them  in 

the  dark, 
I  swear  they  are  averaged  now — one  is  no  better  than 

the  other. 
The  night  and  sleep  have  liken'd  them  and  restored 

them. 

''  I  swear  they  are  all  beautiful  ; 

Every  one  that  sleejis  is  beautiful — everything  in  the 

dim  light  is  beautiful. 
The  wildest  and  bloodiest  is  over,  and  all  is  peace. 

18 

^'  Peace  is  always  beautiful. 

The  myth  of  heaven  indicates  peace  and  night. 

^^  The  myth  of  heaven  indicates  the  Soul ; 

The  Soul  is  always  beaiitifal — it  appears  more  or  it 
appears  less — it  comes,  or  it  lags  behind. 

It  comes  from  its  embower'd  garden,  and  looks  pleas- 
antly on  itself,  aud  encloses  the  world. 

Perfect  and  clean  the  genitals  previously  jetting,  and 
jDarfect  and  clean  the  womb  cohering. 

The  head  well-grown,  proportion'd  and  plumb,  nnd  the 
bowels  and  joints  proportion'd  and  piuuib. 


Thk  Sleepers.  229 

19 

"  Tlie  Soul  is  always  beautiful, 

The  vmiverse  is  du]y  in  order,  everything  is  in  its  place, 

What  has  arrived  is  in  its  place,  and  what  waits  is  in 

its  place  ; 
The   twisted  skull  waits,  the    watery  or  rotten  blood 

waits. 
The  child  of  the  glutton  or  venerealee  waits  long,  and 

the  child  of  the  di-unkard  waits  long,  and  the 

drunkard  himself  waits  long, 
The  sleepers  that  lived  and  died  wait— the  far  advanced 

are  to  go  on  in  their  turns,  and  the  far  behind 

are  to  come  on  in  their  turns. 
The   diverse   shall   be   no  less  diverse,  but  they  shall 

flow  and  unite — they  unite  nov/. 

20 

"  The  sleepers  are  ver^^  beautiful  as  they  lie  unclothed, 
They  flow  hand  in  hand  over  the  whole   earth,  from 

east  to  west,  as  they  lie  unclothed. 
The  Asiatic  and  African  are  hand  in  hand — the  Era-o- 

pean  and  American  are  hand  in  hand, 
Learn'd  and  unlearn'd  are  hand  in  hand,  and  male  and 
,  female  are  hand  in  hand, 

The  bare  arm  of  the  girl  crosses  the  bare  breast  of  her 

lover — they   press   close   without  lust — his  lips 

press  her  neck. 
The  father  holds  his  grown  or  ungrown  son  in  his  arms 

with   measureless  love,   and   the  son  holds  the 

father  in  his  arms  with  measureless  love. 
The  white  hair  of  the  mother  shines  on  the  white  wrist 

of  the  daughter. 
The  breath  of  the-boy  goes  with  the  breath  of  the  man, 

friend  is  inarm'd  by  friend, 
The  scholar  kisses  the  teacher,  and  the  teacher  kisses 

the  scholar — the  wrong'd  is  made  right. 
The  call  of  the  slave  is  one  with  the  master's  call,  and 

the  master  salutes  the  slave, 


230  Leaves  of  Grass. 

The  felon  steps  forth  from  the  jDrisou — the  insane  be- 
comes sane — the  sufiering  of  sick  persons  is 
reliev'd, 

The  sweatings  and  fevers  stop — the  throat  that  was  tin- 
sound  is  sound — the  lungs  of  the  consumptive 
are  resumed — the  poor  distress'd  head  is  free, 

The  joints  of  the  rheumatic  move  as  smoothly  as  ever, 
and  smoother  than  ever, 

Stiflings  and  passages  open — the  paralyzed  become 
supple, 

The  s we] I'd  and  convuls'd  and  congested  awake  to 
themselves  in  condition, 

They  pass  the  invigoration  of  the  night,  and  the  chem- 
istry of  the  night,  and  awake. 

21 

'^'^  I  too  pass  from  the  night, 

I  stay  a  while  away,  O  night,  but  I  return  to  you  again, 
and  love  you. 

"  Why  should  I  be  afraid  to  trust  myself  to  jow? 

I  am  not  afraid — I  have  been  well  brought  forward  by 

you  ; 
I  love  the  rich  running  day,  but  I  do  not  desert  her  in 

whom  I  lay  so  long, 
I  know  not  how  I  came  of  you,  and  I  know  not  where 

I  go  with  you — but  I  know  I  came  well,  and  shall 

go  well. 

^^  I  will  stop  only  a  time  with  the  night,  and  rise  be- 
times ; 

I  will  duly  pass  the  day,  O  my  mother,  and  duly  return 
to  you. 


Leaves  of  Grass. 


'  Earth,  round,  rolling,  compact — suns,  moons,  ani- 
mals— all  these  arc  words  to  be  said  ; 

Watery,  vegetable,  sauroid  advances — beings,  premoni- 
tions, lispings  of  the  future. 

Behold !  these  are  vast  words  to  be  said. 

*  Were  you  thinking  that  those  were  the  words — those 
upright  lines  ?  those  curves,  angles,  dots  ? 

No,  those  are  not  the  Vv'ords — the  substantial  words  are 
in  the  ground  and  sea. 

They  are  in  the  air — they  are  in  you. 

^  Were  you  thinking  that  those  were  the  words — those 

delicious  sounds  out  of  your  fiiends'  mouths  ? 
No,  the  real  words  are  more  delicious  than  they. 

■*  Human  bodies  are  words,  myriads  of  words  ; 

In  the  best  poems  re-appears  the  body,  man's  or  wo- 
man's, well-shaped,  natural,  gay, 

Every  part  able,  active,  receptive,  without  shame  or  the 
need  of  shame. 


^  Air,  soil,  water,  fire — these  are  words  ; 
I  myself  am  a  word  with  them — my  qualities  interpene- 
trate with  theirs — my  name  is  nothing  to  them  ; 


232  Leaves  of  Grass. 

Tliough  it  were  told  in  the  three  thousand  languages, 
what  would  air,  soil,  water,  fire,  know  of  jnj 
name  ? 

^  A  healthy  presence,  a  friendly  or  commanding  ges- 
ture, are  words,  sayings,  meanings  ; 

The  charms  that  go  with  the  mere  looks  of  some  men 
and  women,  are  sayings  and  meanings  also. 


'  The  workmanship  of  souls  is  by  the  inaudible  words 

of  the  earth  ; 
The  great  masters  know  the  earth's  words,  and  use 

them  more  than  the  audible  words. 

^  Amelioration  is  one  of  the  earth's  words ; 

The  earth  neither  lags  nor  hastens  ; 

It  has  all  attributes,  growths,  effects,  latent  in  itself 

from  the  jump  ; 
It  is  not  half  beautiful  only— defects  and  excrescences 

show  just  as  much  as  perfections  show. 

*  The  earth  does  not  withhold,  it  is  generous  enough  ; 

The  truths  of  the  earth  continually  wait,  they  are  not 
so  conceal'd  either  ; 

They  are  calm,  subtle,  untransmissible  by  print ; 

They  are  imbued  through  all  things,  conveying  them- 
selves willingly, 

Conveying  a  sentiment  and  invitation  of  the  earth — I 
utter  and  utter, 

I  speak  not,  yet  if  you  hear  me  not,  of  what  avail  am  I 
to  you  ? 

To  bear — to  better — lacking  these,  of  what  avail  am  I  ? 


'"  Accouche  !  Accouchez ! 

Will  you  rot  your  own  fruit  in  yourself  there  ? 

Will  you  squat  and  stifle  there  ? 

"  The  earth  docs  uot  argue, 


Cakol  of  Words.  233 

Is  not  pathetic,  has  no  arrangeinents, 
Does  not  scream,  Iiaste,  persuade,  threaten,  promise, 
Makes  no  discriminations,  has  no  conceivable  failures, 
Closes  nothing,  refuses  nothing,  shuts  none  out. 
Of  all  the  powers,  objects,  states,  it  notifies,  shuts  none 
out. 


'■  The  earth  does  not  exhibit  itself,  nor  refuse  to  ex- 
hibit itself — possesses  still  underneath  ; 

Underneath  the  ostensible  sounds,  the  august  chorus 
of  heroes,  the  wail  of  slaves. 

Persuasions  of  lovers,  ciu'ses,  gasps  of  the  djdng, 
laughter  of  young  people,  accents  of  bargain- 
ers. 

Underneath  these,   possessing  the   words   that   never 

fan. 

"  To  her  children,  the  words  of  the  eloquent  dumb 

great  mother  never  fail ; 
The  true  v>'ords  do  not  fail,  for  motion  does  not  fail, 

and  reflection  does  noc  fail ; 
Also  the  day  and  night  do  not  fail,  and  the  voyage  we 

pursue  docs  not  fail. 

6 

'^  Of  the  interminable  sisters. 

Of  the  ceaseless  cotillions  of  sisters. 

Of  the  centripetal  and  centrifugal  sisters,  the  elder  and 

younger  sisters, 
The  beautiful  sister  we  know  dances  on  with  the  rest. 

'^  With  her  ample  back  towards  every  beholder. 

With  the  fascinations  of  youth,  and  the  equal  fascina- 
tions of  age. 

Sits  she  whom  I  too  love  like  the  rest — sits  undis- 
turb'd. 

Holding  up  in  her  hand  what  has  the  character  of  a 
mirror,  while  her  eyes  glance  back  from  it, 


231  Leaves  or  Grass. 

Glance  as  she  sits,  inviting  none,  denying  nono, 
Holding  a  mirror  day  and  night  tirelessly  before  her 
own  face. 


'^  Seen  at  hand,  or  seen  at  a  distance, 

Duly  the  twenty-four  appear  in  pubUc  every  day, 

Duly  approach  and  pass  with  their  companions,  or  a 
companion, 

Lo oiling  from  no  countenances  of  their  own,  but  from 
the  countenances  of  those  who  are  with  them, 

From  the  countenances  of  children  or  women,  or  the 
manly  countenance, 

From  the  open  countenances  of  animals,  or  fi'om  inani- 
mate things. 

From  the  landscape  or  waters,  or  from  the  exquisite 
apparition  of  the  sky. 

From  our  countenances,  mine  and  yours,  faithfully  re- 
turning them, 

Every  day  in  public  appearing  without  fail,  but  never 
twice  with  the  same  companions. 

8 

"  Embracing  man,  embracing  all,  proceed  the  three 

hundred  and    sixty-five   resistlessly  round   the 

sun  ; 
Embracing  all,  soothing,  supporting,  follow  close  three 

hundred  and  sixty-five  ofisels  of  the  first,  sure 

and  necessary  as  they 

9 

'"  Tumbling  on  steadily,  nothing  dreading. 

Sunshine,  storm,  cold,  heat,  forever  withstanding,  pass- 
ing, carrying. 

The  Soul's  realization  and  determination  still  inherit- 
ing, 

The  fluid  vacuum  around  and  ahead  still  entering  and 
dividing, 


Carol  of  Woeds.  235 

No  balk  retarding,  no  anchor  anchoring,  on  no  rock 
striking, 

Swift,  glad,  content,  unbereav'd,  nothing  losing. 

Of  all  able  and  ready  at  any  time  to  give  strict  ac- 
count, 

The  divine  shix')  sails  the  divine  sea. 

10 

'^  Wlioever  yon  are !  motion  antl  reflection  are  especi- 
ally for  you  ; 
The  divine  ship  sails  the  divine  sea  for  you. 

-°  Whoever  you  are  !  you  are  he  or  she  for  vrhom  the 

earth  is  solid  and  liquid. 
You  aj'e  he  or  she  for  whom  the  sun  and  moon  hang  in 

the  shy, 
For  none  more  than  j-ou  are  the  present  and  the  past, 
For  none  more  than  you  is  immortality. 

.      11 

-'  Each  man  to  timself,  and  each  woman  to  herself, 
such  is  the  word  of  the  past  and  present,  and 
the  word  of  immortality  ; 

No  one  can  acquire  for  another — not  one ! 

Not  one  can  grow  for  another — not  one  ! 

-■  The  song  is  to  the  singer,  and  comes  bach  most  to 

him  ; 
The  teaching  is  to  the  teacher,  and  comes  back  most  to 

him  ; 
The  murder  is  to  the  murderer,  and  comes  back  most 

to  him  ; 
The  theft  is  to  the  thief,  and  comes  back  most  to  him  ; 
The  love  is  to  the  lover,  and  comes  back  most  to  him  ; 
The  gift  is  to  the  giver,  and  comes  back  most  to  him — • 

it  cannot  fail ; 
The  oration  is  to  the  orator,  the  acting  is  to  the  actor 

and  actress,  not  to  the  audience  ; 
And  no  man  understands  any  greatness  or  goodness 

but  his  own,  or  the  indication  of  his  own. 


236  Leaves  of  Grass. 

12 

"^  I  swear  the  earth  shall  surely  be  complete  to  hiin  or 

her  who  shall  be  complete  ! 
I  swear  the  earth  remains  jagged  and  broken  only  to 

him  or  her  who  remains  jagged  and  broken  ! 

"*  I  swear  there  is  no  greatness  or  power  that  does  not 
emulate  those  of  the  earth  ! 

I  swear  there  can  be  no  theory  of  any  account,  unless  it 
corroborate  the  theory  of  the  earth  ! 

No  politics,  art,  rehgion,  behavior,  or  what  not,  is  of 
account,  unless  it  compare  with  the  amphtude  of 
the  earth, 

Unless  it  face  the  exactness,  vitality,  impartiahty,  recti- 
tude of  the  earth. 

13 

^^  I  swear  I  begin  to  see  love  with  sweeter  spasms  than 

that  which  responds  love  ! 
It  is  that  which  contains  itself — which  never  invites, 

and  never  refuses. 

^^  I  swear  I  begin  to  see  little  or  nothing  in  audible 

words ! 
I  swear  I  think  all  merges  toward  the  presentation  of 

the  unspoken  meanings  of  the  earth  ! 
Toward  him  who  sings  the  songs  of  the  Body,  and  of 

the  truths  of  the  earth  ; 
Toward  him  who  makes  the  dictionaries  of  words  that 

print  cannot  touch. 

14 

"  I  swear  I  see  what  is  better  than  to  tell  the  best ; 
It  is  always  to  leave  the  best  untold. 

•^  When  I  undertake  to  tell  the  best,  I  find  I  cannot, 

My  tongue  is  ineffectual  on  its  pivots. 

My  breath  wiU  not  be  obedient  to  its  organs, 

I  become  a  dumb  man. 


Carol  of  Woeds.  237 

■^  The  best  of  the  earth  cannot  be  told  anyhow — all  or 

any  is  best ; 
It  is  not  what  yoii  anticipated — it  is  cheaper,  easier, 

nearer  ; 
Things  are  not   dismiss'd  from  the  places  they  held 

before  ; 
The  earth  is  just  as  positive  and  direct  as  it  was  before  ; 
Facts,  religions,  improvements,  jDolities,  trades,  are  as 

real  as  before  ; 
But  the  Soul  is  also  real, — it  too  is  positive  and  direct ; 
No  reasoning,  no  proof  has  establish'd  it, 
Undeniable  growth  has  estabhsh'd  it. 

15 

^^  This  is  a  poem — a  carol  of  words — these  are  hints  of 

meanings, 
These  are  to  echo  the  tones  of  Souls,  and  the  phrases 

of  Souls  ; 
If  they  did  not  echo  the  phrases  of  Souls,  what  were 

they  then  ? 
If  they  had  not  reference  to  you  in  especial,  what  were 

they  then  ? 

^'  I  swear  I  will  never  henceforth  have  to  do  with  the 

faith  that  tells  the  best ! 
I  will  have  to  do  only  with  that  faith  that  leaves  the 

best  untold. 

16 

^-  Say  on,  sayers  ! 

Delve  !  mould  !  pile  the  words  of  the  earth  ! 

Work  on — (it  is  materials  you  must  bring,  not  breaths  ;) 

"Work  on,  age  after  age  !  nothing  is  to  be  lost ; 

It  may  have  to  wait  long,  but  it  will  certainly  come  in 

use  ; 
When  the  materials  are  all  prepared,  the  architects 

shall  appear. 

^^  I  swear  to  you  the  architects  shall  appear  without 
fail !  I  announce  them  and  lead  them  ; 


238  Leaves. OF  Gras3. 

I  swear  to  you  tliey  will  understand  you,  and  justify 

you  ; 
I  swear  to  you  the  greatest  among-  them  shall  be  he 

who  best  knows  you,  and  encloses  all,  and  is 

faithful  to  all ; 
I  swear  to  you,  he  and  the  rest  shall  not  forget  you — 

they  shall  perceive  that  you  are  not  an  iota  less 

than  they ; 
I  swear  to  you,  you  shall  be  glorified  in  them. 


Ah  Poverties,  Wincings,  and  Sulky  Retreats. 

Ah  poverties,  wincings,  and  sulky  retreats ! 

Ah  you  foes  that  in  conflict  have  overcome  me  ! 

(For  what  is  my  life,  or  any  man's  life,  but  a  conflict 
with  foes — the  old,  the  incessant  war?) 

You  degradations — you  tussle  with  passions  and  appe- 
tites ; 

You  smarts  from  dissatisfied  friendships,  (ah  wounds, 
the  sharpest  of  all ;) 

You  toil  of  painful  and  choked  articulations — you  mean- 
nesses ; 

You  shallow  tongue-talks  at  tables,  (my  tongue  the 
shallowest  of  any ;) 

You  broken  resolutions,  you  racking  angers,  you  smoth- 
er'd  ennuis  ; 

Ah,  think  not  you  finally  triumph— My  real  seH  has  yet 
to  come  forth  ; 

It  shall  yet  march  forth  o'ermastering,  till  all  lies  be- 
neath me  ; 

It  shall  yet  stand  up  the  soldier  of  unquestion'd  victory. 


Leaves  of  Grass. 

A   BOSTON   BALLAD. 

(1854.) 

'  To  get  betimes  in  Boston  town,  I  rose  this  morning 

early ; 
Here's  a  good  place  at  the  corner — I  must  stand  and 

see  the  show. 

-  Clear  the  way  there,  Jonathan!' 

Way  for  the  President's  marshal !  "Way  for  the  govern- 
ment cannon ! 

Way  for  the  Federal  foot  and  di-agoons — and  the  appa- 
ritions copiously  tumbling. 

^  I  love  to  look  on  the  stars  and  stripes — I  hope  the 
fifes  will  play  Yankee  Doodle. 

■*  How  bright  shine  the  cutlasses  of  the  foremost  troops! 
Every  man  holds  his  revolver,  marching  stiff  through 
Boston  town. 

^  A  fog  follows — antiques  of  the  same  come  limping. 
Some  appear  wooden-legged,   and   some  appear  ban- 
daged and  bloodless. 

®  Why  this  is  indeed  a  show !  It  has  called  the  dead  out 

of  the  earth ! 
The  old  grave-yards  of  the  hills  have  hurried  to  see ! 
Phantoms !  phantoms  countless  by  flank  and  rear ! 
Cock'd  hats  of  mothy  mould !  crutches  made  of  mist ! 
Arms  in  slings !  old  men  leaning  on  young  men's  shoul- 

devs ! 


240  Leaves  oe  Grass. 

'  "What  troubles  you,  Yankee  phantoms?     What  is  all 

this  chattering  of  bare  gnras  ? 
Does  the  ague  convulse  your  limbs  ?     Do  you  raistake 

your  crutches  for  fire-locks,  and  level  them  ? 

^  If  you  blind  your  eyes  with  tears,  you  will  nob  see  the 
President's  marshal ; 

If  you  groan  such  groans,  you  might  balk  the  govern- 
ment cannon. 

'  For  shame  old  maniacs!     Bring  down  those  toss'd 

arms,  and  let  your  white  hair  be  ; 
Here  gape  your  great  grand-sons — their  wives  gaze  at 

them  from  the  windows, 
See  how  well  dress' d — see  how  orderly  they  conduct 

themselves. 

'"  Worse  and  worse!     Can't  you  stand  it?     Are  you 

retreating  ? 
Is  this  hour  with  the  living  too  dead  for  you? 

"  Eetreat  then !     Pell-mell! 

To  your  graves !     Back !  back  to  the  hills,  old  limpers ! 

I  do  not  think  you  belong  here,  anyhow. 

^^  But  there  is  one  thing  that  belongs  here — shall  I  tell 
you  what  it  is,  gentlemen  of  Boston  ? 

^^  I  will  w^hisper  it  to  the  Mayor — he  shall  send  a  com- 
mittee to  England  ; 

They  shall  get  a  grant  from  the  Parliament,  go  with  a 
cart  to  the  royal  vault — haste ! 

Dig  out  King  George's  coffin,  unwrap  him  quick  from 
the  grave-clothes,  box  up  his  bones  for  a  journey; 

Find  a  swift  Yankee  clipper — hero  is  freight  for  you, 
black-bellied  clipper. 

Up  with  your  anchor !  shake  out  your  sails !  steer 
straight  tov,'ard  Boston- bay. 

"  Now  call  for  the  President's  marshal  again,  bring  out 
the  government  cannon, 


,    A  Boston  Ballad.  241 

Fetch  home  the  roarers  from  Congress,  make  another 
procession,  guard  it  vath  foot  and  dragoons. 

'^  This  centre-piece  for  them  : 

Look!    all  orderly  citizens — look   from   the  windows, 
women ! 

'^  The  committee  open  the  box,  set  up  the  regal  ribs, 

glue  those  that  will  not  stay. 
Clap  the  skull  on  top  of^  the  ribs,  and  clap  a  crown  on 

top  of  the  skull. 

"  You  have  got  your  revenge,  old  buster !     The  crown 
is  come  to  its  own,  and  more  than  its  own. 

'^  Stick  your  hands  in  your  pockets,  Jonathan — you  are 

a  made  man  from  this  day  ; 
You  are  mighty  cute — and  here  is  one  of  your  bargains. 


Year   of  Meteors. 

(1859-60.) 

Yeae  of  meteors !  brooding  year ! 

I  would  bind  in  words  retrospective,  some  of  your  deeds 
and  signs  ; 

I  would  sing  your  contest  for  the  19th  Presidentiad  ; 

I  would  sing  how  an  old  man,  tall,  with  white  hair, 
mounted  the  scaffold  in  Virginia  ; 

(I  was  at  hand — silent  I  stood,  with  teeth-  shut  close — I 
watch'd  ; 

I  stood  very  near  you,  old  man,  when  cool  and  indiffer- 
ent, but  trembling  with  age  and  your  unheal'd 
wounds,  you  mounted  the  scaffold  ;) 

— ^I  would  sing  in  my  copious  song  your  census  returns 
of  The  States, 

The  tables  of  population  and  products — I  would  sing  of 
your  ships  and  their  cargoes, 
11 


212  Leavls  of  Grass. 

TliG  proud  black  sliips  of  Manhattan,  arriving,  some 

fili'd  with  immigrants,  some  from  the  isthmus 

with  cargoes  of  gold  ; 
Songs  thereof  would  I  sing — to  all  that   hicherward 

comes  would  I  welcome  give  ; 
And  you  would  I  sing,  fair  stripling !  welcome  to  you 

from  me,  sweet  boy  of  England ! 
Fiemember  you   surging  Manhattan's  crowds,   as .  you 

pass'd  with  your  cortege  of  nobles  ? 
There  in  the  crov*'ds  stood  I,  and  singled  you  out  with 

attachment ; 
I  know  not  why,  but  I  loved  you  .  .  .   (and  so  go  forth 

little  song. 
Far  over  sea  speed  like  an  arrow,  carryiog  my  love  all 

folded, 
And  find  in  his  palace  the  youth  I  love,  and  droj)  these 

lines  at  his  feet ;) 
— Nor  forget  I  to  sing  of  the  wonder,  tlie  ship  as  she 

swam  up  my  bay. 
Well-shaped  and  stately  the  Great  Eastern  sv/am  up  my 

bay,  she  was  600  feet  long. 
Her,  moving  swiftly,  sui'rounded  by  myriads  of  small 

craft,  I  forget  not  to  sing  ; 
— Nor  the  comet  that  came  unannounced,  out  of  the 

north,  flaring  in  heaven  ; 
Nor  the  strange  huge  meteor  procession,  ciazzling  and 

clear,  shooting  over  our  heads, 
(A  moment,  a  moment  long,  it  sail'd  its  balls  of  un- 
earthly light  over  our  heads. 
Then  departed,  di'opt  in  the  night,  and  was  gone  ;) 
— Of  such,  and  fitful  as  ihej,  I  sing — with  gleams  from 

them  would  I  gleam  and  j)atch  these  chants  ; 
Your  chants,  O  year  all  mottled  with  evil  and  good ! 

year  of  forebodings !  year  of  the  youth  I  love ! 
Year  of  comets  and  meteors  transient  and  strange  ! — lo ! 

even  here,  one  equally  transient  and  strange! 
As  I  flit  through  you  hastily,  soon  to  fall  and  be  gone, 

what  is  this  book, 
What  am  I  myself  but  one  of  your  meteors? 


Leaves  of  Geass. 


A  Broadway  Pageant. 

Reception  Japanese  Embassy,  June,  i860. 


'  Over  the  western  sea,  hither  from  Niphon  come, 
Courteous,  the  swart-cheek'd,  two-swordecl  envoys, 
Leaning  back  in   their   open  barouches,  bare-headed, 

impassive, 
Eide  to-day  through  Manhattan. 

*  Libertad! 

I  do  not  know  whether  others  behold  what  I  behold, 

In  the  procession,  along  with  the  nobles  of  Asia,  the 

errand-bearers, 
Bringing  up  the  rear,  hovering  above,  around,  or  in  the 

ranks  marching  ; 
But  I  will  sing  you  a  song  of  what  I  behold,  Libertad. 


^  When  million-footed  Manhattan,  unpent,  descends  to 

her  pavements  ; 
When  the  thunder-cracking  guns  arouse  me  with  the 

proud  roar  I  love  ; 
When  the  round-mouth'd  guns,  out  of  the  smoke  and 

smell  I  love,  spit  their  salutes  ; 


244  Leaves  of  Grass. 

Wlien  the  fire-flashing  guns  Lave  fully  alerted  me — 

wlien    heaven-clouds    canopy   my   city   with    a 

delicate  thin  haze  ; 
"When,  gorgeous,  the  countless  straight  stems,  the  for- 
ests at  the  wharves,  thicken  Vv'ith  colors  ; 
"When  every  ship,  richly  drest,  carries  her  flag  at  the 

peak  ; 
When  pennants  trail,  and  street-festoons  hang  fi'om  the 

windows  ; 
"When  Broadway  is  entirely  given  up  to  foot-passengers 

and  foot-standers — when  the  mass  is  densest ; 
"When  the  fagades  of  the  houses  are  alive  with  people — 

when  eyes  gaze,  riveted,  tens  of  thousands  at  a 

time  ; 
When  the  guests  from  the  islands  advance — when  the 

pageant  moves  forward,  visible  ; 
When  the  summons  is   made — when  the  answer  that 

waited  thousands  of  years,  answers  ; 
I  too,  arising,   answering,  descend  to  the   pavements, 

merge  with  the  crowd,  and  gaze  with  them. 


^  Superb-faced  Manhattan ! 

Comrade  Americanos ! — to  us,  then,  at  last,  the  Orient 
comes. 

^  To  us,  my  city, 

Where  our  tall-topt  marble  and  iron  beauties  range  on 

opposite  sides — to  walk  in  the  space  between, 
To-day  our  Antipodes  comes. 

®  The  Originatress  comes. 

The  nest  of  langiiages,  the  bequeather  of  poems,   the 

race  of  eld. 
Florid  with  blood,  pensive,  rapt  with  musings,  hot  with 

passion, 
Sultry  with  perfume,  with  ample  and  flowing  garments. 
With  sunburnt  visage,  with  intense  soul  and  glittering 

eyes. 
The  race  of  Brahma  comes ! 


I 


A  Bkoadway  Pageakt.  '         245 


'  See,  my  cantabile !  these,  and  more,  are  flashing  to  us 

from  the  procession  ; 
As  it  moves,  changing,  a  kaleidoscope  divine  it  moves, 

changing,  before  us. 

'^  For  not  the  envoys,  nor  the  tann'd  Japanee  from  his 
island  only  ; 

Lithe  and  silent,  the  Hindoo  appears — the  Asiatic  con- 
tinent itself  appears — the  Past,  the  dead. 

The  murky  night-morning  of  wonder  and  fable,  inscru- 
table. 

The  envelop'd  mysteries,  the  old  and  unknown  hive- 
bees. 

The  North- — the  sweltering  South — eastern  Assyria — 
the  Hebrews — the  Ancient  of  Ancients, 

Yast  desolated  cities — the  gliding  Present — all  of  these, 
and  more,  are  in  the  pageant-procession. 

^  Geography,  the  world,  is  in  it  ; 

The  Great  Sea,  the  brood  of  islands,  Polynesia,  the 
coast  beyond  ; 

The  coast  you,  henceforth,  are  facing — you  Libertad! 
from  your  "Western  golden  shores 

The  countries  there,  with  their  pojDulations — the  mil- 
lions en-masse,  are  curiously  here  ; 

The  swarming  market  places — the  temjales,  with  idols 
ranged  along  the  sides,  or  at  the  end — bonze, 
brahmin,  and  lama  ; 

The  mandarin,  farmer,  merchant,  mechanic,  and  fisher- 
man ; 

The  singing-girl  and  the  dancing-girl — the  ecstatic 
person — the  secluded  Emj^erors, 

Confucius  himself — the  great  poets  and  heroes — the 
warriors,  the  castes,  all, 

Trooping  up,  crowding  from  all  directions — from  the 
Altay  mountains. 

From  Thibet — from  the  four  winding  and  far-flowing 
rivers  of  China, 

From  the  Southern  peninsulas,  and  the  demi-conti- 
nental  islands — from  Malaysia  ; 


246  Leaves  of  Grass. 

These,  and  whatever  belongs  to  them,  palpable,  show 

forth  to  me,  and  aro  seiz'd  by  me. 
And  I  am  seiz'd  by  them,  and  friendlily  held  by  them. 
Till,  as  here,  them  all  I  chant,  Libertad  !  for  themselves 

and  for  you. 

5 

'"  For  I  too,  raising  my  voice,  join  the  ranks  of  this 

pageant ; 
I  am  the  chanter — I  chant  aloud  over  the  pageant  ; 
I  chant  the  world  on  my  "Western  Sea  ; 
I  chant,  copious,  the  islands  beyond,  thick  as  stars  in 

the  sky  ; 
I  chant  the  new  empire,  grander  than  any  before — As 

in  a  vision  it  comes  to  me  ; 
I  chant  America,  the  Mistress — I  chant  a  greater  su- 
premacy ; 
I  chant,  projected,  a  thousand  blooming  cities  yet,  in 

time,  on  those  groups  of  sea-islands ; 
I  chant  my  sail-ships   and  steam-ships  threading   the 

archipelagoes  ; 
I  chant  my  stars  and  stripes  fluttering  in  tho  wind  ; 
I  chant  commerce  opening,  the  sleep  of  ages  having 

done  its  work — races,  reborn,  refresh'd  ; 
Lives,  works,  resumed — The  object  I  know  not — but 

the  old,  the  Asiatic,  renew'd,  as  it  must  be. 
Commencing  from  this  day,  surrounded  by  the  world. 

6 

"  And  you,  Libertad  of  the  world  ! 

You  shall  sit  in  the  middle,  well-pcis'd,  thousands  of 
years  ; 

As  to-day,  from  one  side,  the  nobles  of  Asia  come  to 
you  ; 

As  to-morrow,  from  the  other  side,  the  Queen  of  Eng- 
land sends  her  eldest  son  to  you. 

7 
'■^  The  sign  is  reversing,  the  orb  is  enclosed. 
The  ring  is  cu-cled,  the  journey  is  done  ; 


I 


A  Beoadway  Pageant.  247 

The  box-lid  is  but  perceptibly  open'd — nevertheless  the 
perfume  pours  copiously  out  of  the  whole  box. 

8 

'"  Young  Libertad ! 

With  the  venerable  Asia,  the  all -mother, 

13e  considerate  with  her,  now  and  ever,  hot  Libertad — 

for  yon  are  all ; 
Bend  your  proud   neck   to    the  long-off  mother,    now 

sending  messages  over  the  archipelagoes  to  you  ; 
Bend  your  proud  uecli  low  for  once,  young  Libertad. 

9 

'■*  Were  the  children   straying   westward  so  long?   so 

wide  the  tramping? 
Were  the  precedent  dim   ages   debouching   westward 

fi'om  Paradise  so  long  ? 
Were  the  centuries  steadily  footing  it  that  way,  all  the 

while  unknown,  for  you,  for  reasons  ? 

'^  They  are  justified — they  are  accomplish'd— they  shall 
now  be  tm-n'd  the  other  way  also,  to  travel  to- 
ward you  thence ; 

They  shall  now  also  march  obediently  eastward,  for 
your  sake,  Libertad. 


248  Leaves  oe  Grass. 

SUGGESTIONS. 


That  -wliatever  tastes  sweet  to  the  most  perfect  person 
— That  is  finally  right. 


That  the  human  shape  or  face  is  so  great,  it  must  never 
be  made  ridiculous  ; 

That  for  ornaments  nothing  outre  can  be  allowed, 

That  anything  is  most  beautiful  without  ornament ; 

That  exaggerations  will  be  sternly  revenged  in  your 
own  physiology,  aud  in  other  persons'  physiol- 
ogy also  ; 

That  clean-shaped  children  can  be  jetted  and  conceiv'd 
only  where  natural  forms  prevail  in  public,  and 
the  human  face  and  form  are  never  caricatured  ; 

And  that  genius  need  never  more  be  turn'd  to  ro- 
mances, 

(For  facts  properly  told,  how  mean  appear  all  ro- 
mances.) 


I  have  said  many  times  that  materials  and  the  Soul  are 

great,  and  that  all  depends  on  physique  ; 
Now  I  reverse  what  I  said,  and  suggest  that  all  depends 

on  the  sesthetic,  or  intellectual. 
And  that   criticism  is   great — and   that  refinement  is 

greatest  of  all ; 
And  that  the  mind  governs — and  that  all  depends  on 

the  mind. 


With  one  man  or  woman — (no  matter  which  one — I 

even  pick  out  the  lowest,) 
With  him  or  her  I  now  suggest  the  whole  law  ; 
And  that  every  right,  in  politics  or  what-not,  shall  bo 

eligible  to  that  one  man  or  woman,  on  the  same 

terms  as  any. 


Leaves  of  Geass. 


Great  are  the  Myths. 


'  Great  are  the  myths — I  too  delight  in  them  ; 

Great  are  Adam  and  Eve — ^I  too  look  back  and  accept 

them  ; 
Great  the  risen  and  fallen  nations,  and  their  poets, 

women,   sages,   inventors,  rulers,  warriors,   and 

priests. 

-  Great  is  Liberty  !  great  is  Equality  !  I  am  their  fol- 
lower ; 

Helmsmen  of  nations,  choose  your  craft !  where  you 
sail,  I  sail, 

I  weather  it  out  with  you,  or  sink  with  jou. 

^  Great  is  Youth — equally  great  is  Old  Age — great  are 
the  Day  and  Night ; 

Great  is  "Wealth — great  is  Poverty — great  is  Expres- 
sion— great  is  Silence. 

*  Youth,  large,  lusty,  loving — Youth,  full  of  gxace,  force, 

fascination ! 
Do  you  know  that  Old  Age  may  come  after  you,  with 
equal  grace,  force,  fascination  ? 

*  Day,  full-blown  and  splendid — Day  of  the  immense 

sun,  action,  ambition,  laughter. 
The  Night   follows  close,  with  millions  of  suns,   and 
sleep,  and  restoring  darkness. 


250  Leaves  or  Grass. 

^  Wealth,  with  the  flush  hand,  fine  clothes,  hosj)i- 
tality ; 

But  then  the  Soul's  wealth,  which  is  candor,  knowl- 
edge, pride,  enfolding  love  ; 

(Who  goes  for  men  and  v/omeu  showing  Poverty  richer 
than  wealth  ?) 

'  Expression  of  speech  !  in  Vv^hat  is  written  or  said,  for- 
get not  that  Silence  is  also  expressive. 

That  anguish  as  hot  as  the  hottest,  and  contempt  as 
cold  as  the  coldest,  may  be  without  words. 


**  Great  is  the  Earth,  and  the  way  it  became  what  it  is  ; 

Do  you  imagine  it  has  stopt  at  this  r  the  increase  aban- 
don'd  ? 

Understand  then  that  it  goes  as  far  onward  from  this, 
as  this  is  from  the  times  when  it  lay  in  covering 
waters  and  gases,  before  man  had  appcar'd. 

^  Great  is  the  quality  of  Truth  in  man  ; 

The  quality  of  truth  in  man  supports  itself  through  all 

changes. 
It  is  inevitably  in  the  man — ^he  and  it  are  in  love,  and 

never  leave  each  other. 

'"  The  truth  in  man  is  no  dictum,  it  is  vital  as  eye- 
sight ; 

If  there  be  any  Soul,  there  is  truth — if  there  be  man  or 
woman  there  is  truth — if  there  be  physical  or 
moral,  there  is  truth  ; 

If  there  be  equilibrium  or  volition,  there  is  truth — if 
there  be  things  at  all  upon  the  earth,  there  is 
truth. 

"  0  truth  of  the  earth  !  I  am.  determin'd  to  press  my 

way  toward  you  ; 
Sound  yoiu"  voice !  I  scale  mountains,  or  dive  in  the 

sea  after  you. 


Great  are  the  Myths.  251 


'■  Great  is  Language — it  is  the  mightiest  of  the  sci- 
ences, 

It  is  the  fulness,  color,  form,  diversity  of  the  earth,  and 
of  men  and  women,  and  of  all  qualities  and  pro- 
cesses ; 

It  is  greater  than  wealth — it  is  gi'eater  than  buildings, 
ships,  religious,  paintings,  music. 

'^  Great  is  the  English  speech — what  speech  is  so  great 

as  the  English  ? 
Great  is  the  English  brood — what  brood  has  so  vast  a 

destiny  as  the  English  ? 
lb  is  the  mother  of  the  bi"ood  that  must  rule  the  earth 

Vv'ith  the  new  rule  ; 
The  new  rule  shall  rule  as  the  Soul  rules,  and  as  the 

love,  justice,  equality  in  the  Soul  rule. 

'^  Great  is  Law — great  are  the  few  old  land-marks  of 

the  law, 
They  are  the  same  in  all  times,  and  shall  not  be  dis- 

turb'd. 


'^  Great  is  Justice  ! 

Justice  is  not  settled  by  legislators  and  laws— it  is  in 

the  Soul ; 
It  cannot  be  varied  by  statutes,  any  more  than  love, 

pride,  the  attraction  of  gravity,  can  ; 
It  is  immutable — it  does  not  depend  on  majorities — 

majorities  or  what  not,  come  at  last  before  the 

same  passionless  and  exact  tribunal. 

^'^  For  justice  are  the  grand  natural  lawyers,  and  per- 
fect judges — is  it  in  their  Souls  ; 

It  is  well  assorted — they  have  not  studied  for  nothing 
— the  great  includes  the  less  ; 

They  rule  on  the  higliest  grounds — they  oversee  all 
eras,  states,  administrations. 


252  Leaves  of  Geass. 

"  The  perfect  judge  fears  notliing — lie  could  go  fi'ont  to 

front  before  God ; 
Before  tlie  perfect  judge  all  shall  stand  back — life  and 

death  shall  stand  back — heaven  and  hell  shall 

stand  back. 


'*  Great  is  Life,  real  and  mystical,  wherever  and  who- 
ever ; 

Great  is  Dsath— sure  as  life  holds  all  parts  together, 
Death  holds  all  parts  together. 

'"  Has  Life  much  purport  ?— Ah,  Death  has  the  great- 
est purport. 

Thought. 

O?  persons  arrived  at  high  positions,  ceremonies,  wealth, 

scholarships,  and  the  like  ; 
To  me,  all  that  those  persons  have  arrived  a(,  sinks 

away  from  them,  except  as  it  results  to  their 

Bodies  and  Souls, 
So  that  often  to  me  they  appear  gaunt  and  naked  ; 
And  often,  to  me,  each  one  mocks  the  others,  and  mocks 

himself  or  herself. 
And  of  each  one,  the  core  of  life,  namely  happiness,  is 

fall  of  the  rotten  excrement  of  maggots. 
And  often,  to  me,  those  men  and  women  pass  unwit- 
tingly the  true  realities  of  life,  and  go  toward 

false  reahties. 
And  often,  to  me,  they  are  alive  after  what  custom  has 

served  them,  but  nothing  more. 
And  often,  to  me,  they  are  sad,  hasty,  unwaked  sonnam- 

bules,  walking  the  dusk. 


Leaves  of  Grass. 


There  was  a  Child  went  Forth. 

'  There  was  a  child  went  forth  every  day ; 

And   the  first  object  he  look'd  upon,  fhat  object  he 

became  ; 
And  that  object  became  part  of  him  for  the  day,  or  a 

certain  part  of  the  day,  or  for  many  years,  or 

stretching  cycles  of  years. 

■  The  early  lilacs  became  part  of  this  child, 

And   grass,  and  white  and  red  morning-glories,  and 

white  and  red  clover,  and  the  song  of  the  phoebe- 

bird. 
And  the  Third-month  lambs,  and  the  sow's  pink-faint 

litter,  and  the  mare's  foal,  and  the  cow's  calf, 
And  the  noisy  brood  of  the  barn-yard,  o]'  by  the  mire 

of  the  pond-side. 
And  the  fish  suspending  themselves  so  curiously  belov/ 

there — and  the  beautiful  curious  liquid. 
And  the  water-plants  with  their  graceful  flat  heads — all 

became  part  of  him. 

^  The  field-sprouts  of  Fourth-month  and  Fifth-month 

became  part  of  him  ; 
Winter-grain   s]Drouts,   and   those   of  the   light-j-ellow 

corn,  and  the  esculent  roots  of  the  garden, 
And  the  apple-trees  cover'd  with  blossoms,  and  the  fruit 

afterward,  and  wood-berries,  and  the  commonest 

weeds  by  the  road  ; 


254  Leaves  or  Geass. 

And  the  old  druulcard  staggering  home  from  the  out- 
house of  the  tavern,  whence  he  had  lately  risen, 

And  the  school-mistress  that  pass'd  on  her  way  io  the 
school. 

And  the  friendly  boys  that  pass'd — and  the  quarrelsome 
boys. 

And  the  tidy  and  fresh-cheek'd  girls — and  the  barefoot 
negro  boy  and  gu'l, 

And  all  the  changes  of  city  and  country,  v/herever  he 
went. 


^  His  own  parents, 

He  that  had  father'd  him,  and  she  that  had  conceiy'd 

him  in  her  womb,  and  birth'd  him, 
They  gave  this  child  more  of  themselves  than  that ; 
They  gave  him  afterward  every  day — they  became  part 

of  him. 

^  The  mother  at  home,  quietly  placing  the  dishes  on 

the  supper-table  ; 
The  mother  with  mild  words— clean  her  cap  r.nd  gown, 

a  wholesome   odor  falling  off  her   person   and 

clothes  as  she  walks  by  ; 
The  father,  strong,  self-sufficient,  manly,  mean,  anger'd, 

unjust ; 
The  blow,  the  quick  loud  v/ord,  the  tight  ba,rgain,  the 

crafty  lure, 
The  family  usages,  the  language,  the  compan}^,  the  fur- 
niture— the  yearning  and  swelling  heart, 
Aftection  that  will  not  be  gainsay'd — the  sense  of  what 

is  real — the  thought  if,  after  all,  it  should  x^rove 

unreal, 
The  doubts  of  day-time  and  the  doubts  of  night-time— 

the  curious  whether  and  how. 
Whether  that  which  appears  so  is  so,  or  is  it  all  flashes 

and  species  ? 
Men  and  women  crowding  fast  in  the  streets — if  they 

are  not  flashes  and  specks,  what  are  they  ? 
The  streets  themselves,  and  the  fa9ades  of  houses,  and 

goods  in  the  v/indows, 


J 


Leaves  of  Ghass.  255 

Veliicles,  teaips,  tlie  lieavy-plaiik'd  wharves — tlie  Imge 

cross'  ig  at  the  ferries, 
The  village  on  the  highland,  seen  from  afar  at  sunset-;— 

the  river  between, 
Shadov/s,  aureola  and  mist,  the  light  falling  on  roofs 

and  gables  of  white  or  brovvai,  three  miles  off, 
The  schooner  near  by,  sleepily  dropping  down  the  tide 

— the  little  boat  slack-tow'd  astern, 
The    harrying    tumbling   waves,    quick-broken    crests, 

slapping, 
The  strata  of  color'd  clouds,  the  long  bar  of  maroon- 
tint,  away  solitary  by  itself — the  spread  of  purity 

it  lies  motionless  in, 
The  horizon's  edge,  the  flying  sea-crow,  the  fragrance 

of  salt  marsh  and  shore  mud  ; 
These  became  part  of  that  child  who  went  forth  every 

day,  and  who  now  goes,  and  will  always  go  forth 

every  day. 


<V;VW\<VwN" 


Longings  for  Home. 

0  magnet-South  !  O  glistening,  perfumed  South !     My 

South ! 
O  quick  mettle,  rich  blood,  impulse,  and  love  !     Good 

and  evil !     O  all  dear  to  me  ! 
O  dear  to  me  my  birth-things — All  moving  things,  and 

the  trees  where  I  was  born — the  grains,  plants, 

rivers  ; 
Dear  to  me  my  own  slow  sluggish  rivers  where  they 

flow,    distant,    over    flats    of    silvery   sands,   or 

through  swamps  ; 
Dear  to  me  the  Roanoke,  the  Savannah,  the  Altamahaw, 

the  Pedee,  the  Tombigbee,  the  Santee,  the  Coosa, 

and  the  Sabine  ; 
O  pensive,  far  away  wandering,  I  return  with  my  Soul 

to  haunt  their  banks  again  ; 
Again  in  Florida  I  float  on  transparent  lakes — I  float 

on  the  Okeechobee — I  cross  the  hummock  land, 

or  through  pleasant  openings,  or  dense  forests  ; 


256  Leaves  or  Gkass. 

I  see  the  parrots  in  the  woods — I  see  the  papaw  tree 
and  the  blossoming  titi ; 

Again,  sailing  in  my  coaster,  on  deck,  I  coast  off 
Georgia — I  coast  up  the  Carolinas, 

I  see  where  the  live-oak  is  growing — I  see  where  the 
yellow-pine,  the  scented  bay-tree,  the  lemon  and 
orange,  the  cypress,  the  graceful  palmetto  ; 

I  pass  rude  sea-headlands  and  enter  Pamlico  Sound 
through  an  inlet,  and  dart  my  vision  inland  ; 

O  the  cotton  plant !  the  gTowing  fields  of  rice,  sugar, 
hemp ! 

The  cactus,  guarded  with  thorns — the  laurel-tree,  with 
large  white  flowers ; 

The  range  afar — the  richness  and  barrenness — the  old 
woods  charged  with  mistletoe  and  trailing  moss. 

The  piney  odor  and  the  gloom — the  awful  natural  still- 
ness, (Here  in  these  dense  swamps  the  fi-eebooter 
carries  his  gun,  and  the  fugitive  slave  has  his 
conceal'd  hut ;) 

0  the  strange  fascination  of  these  half-known,  half- 
impassable  swamps,  infested  by  reptiles,  resound- 
ing with  the  bellow  of  the  alligator,  the  sad 
noises  of  the  night-owl  and  the  wild-cat,  and  the 
whirr  of  the  rattlesnake  ; 

The  mocking-bird,  the  American  mimic,  singing  all  the 
forenoon — singing  through  the  moon-lit  night. 

The  humming-bird,  the  wild  turkey,  the  raccoon,  the 
opossum  ; 

A  Tennessee  corn-field — the  tall,  graceful,  long-leav'd 
corn — slender,  flapping,  bright  green,  with  tas- 
sels— with  beautiful  ears,  each  well-sheath'd  in 
its  husk  ; 

An  Arkansas  prairie — a  sleeping  lake,  or  still  bayou  ; 

O  my  heart !  0  tender  and  fierce  pangs — I  can  stand 
them  not — I  will  depart ; 

O  to  be  a  Virginian,  where  I  grew  up !  0  to  be  a  Caro- 
linian ! 

0  longings  irrepressible !  O  I  will  go  back  to  old  Ten- 
nessee, and  never  wander  more ! 


Leaves  op  Gkass.  257 


Think  of  the  Soul. 

'  Think  of  tlie  Soul ; 

I  swear  to  you  that  body  of  yours  gives  proportions  to 

your  Soul  somehow  to  live  in  other  spheres  ; 
I  do  not  know  how,  but  I  know  it  is  so. 

-  Think  of  loving  and  being  loved  ; 

I  swear  to  you,  whoever  you  are,  you  can  interfuse  your- 
self with  such  things  that  everybody  that  sees 
you  shall  look  longingly  upon  you. 

^  Think  of  the  past ; 

I  warn  you  that  in  a  little  while  others  will  find  their 
past  in  you  and  your  times, 

■*  The  race  is  never  separated — nor  man  nor  woman 

escapes  ; 
All  is  inextricable — things,  spirits,  Nature,  nations,  you 

too — from  precedents  you  come. 

^  Recall  the  ever-welcome  defiers,  (The  mothers  pre- 
cede them  ;) 

Recall  the  sages,  poets,  saviors,  inventors,  lawgivers,  of 
the  earth  ; 

Recall  Christ,  brother  of  rejected  persons — brother  of 
slaves,  felons,  idiots,  and  of  insane  and  diseas'd 
persons. 

^  Think  of  the  time  when  you  were  not  yet  born  ; 
Think  of  times  you  stood  at  the  side  of  the  dying  ; 
Think  of  the  time  when  your  own  body  will  be  dying. 

''  Think  of  spiritual  results, 

Sure  as  the  earth  swims  through  the  heavens,  does  every 
one  of  its  objects  pass  into  si^iritual  results. 

^  Think  of  manhood,  and  you  to  be  a  man  ; 
Do  you  count  manhood,  and  the  sweet  of  manhood, 
nothino-? 


2j8  Leaves  of  Grass. 

^  Think  of  womanliocd^  and  j'-oii  to  be  a  woman  ; 
The  creation  is  womanhoDd  ; 
Have  I  not  said  that  womanhood  involves  all  ? 
H  ive  I  not  told  how  the  universe  has  nothing  better 
than  the  best  womanhood  ? 


You  Felons  on  Trial  in  Courts. 

'  You  felons  on  trial  in  courts  ; 

You  convicts  in  prison-cells — you  sentenced  assassins, 

chain'd  and  hand-cuff'd  with  iron  ; 
Who  am  I,  too,  that  I  am  not  on  trial,  or  in  prison  ? 
Me,  ruthless  and  devilish  as  any,  that  my  wrists  are  not 

chain'd  vrith  iron,  or  my  ankles  with  iron  ? 

-  You  prostitutes  flaunting  over  the  trottoirs,  or  ob- 
scene in  yoTU'  rooms, 

Who  am  I,  that  I  should  call  you  more  obscene  than 
myself  ? 

^  O  culpable ! 

I  acknowledge — I  expose ! 

(O  admirers !  j)raise  not  me  !  compliment  not  me !  you 

make  me  wince, 
I  see  what  you  do  not— I  know  what  you  do  not.) 

•^  Inside  these  breast-bones  I  lie  smutch'd  and  choked  ; 
Beneath  this  face  that  appears  so  impassive,  hell's  tides 

continually  run  ; 
Lusts  and  wickedness  are  acceptable  to  me  ; 
I  walk  with  delinquents  with  passionate  love  ; 
I  feel  I  am  of  them — I  belong  to  those  convicts  and 

prostitutes  myself, 
And  henceforth  I  will  not  deny  them — for  how  can  I 

deny  myself  ? 


Leaves  of  Gkass.  259 


-     To  a  Common  Prostitute. 

'  Be  composed — be  at  ease  with  me — I  am  Walt  Whit- 
man, hberal  and  kisty  as  Nature  ; 

Not  till  the  sun  excludes  you,  do  I  exclude  you  ; 

Not  till  the  waters  refuse  to  glisten  for  you,  and  the 
leaves  to  rustle  for  you,  do  my  words  refuse  to 
glisten  and  rustle  for  you. 

^  My  girl,  I  appoint  with  you  an  appointment — and  I 
charge  you  that  you  make  prej)ara,tiou  to  bo 
worthy  to  meet  me, 

And  I  charge  you  that  you  be  patient  and  perfect  till  I 
come. 

^  Till  then,  I  ealute  you  with  a  significant  look,  that 
you  do  not  forget  me. 


I  was  Looking  a  Long  While. 

I  WAS  looting  a  long  while  for  a  clue  to  the  history  of 
the  past  for  myself,  and  for  these  chants — and 
novr  I  have  found  it ; 

It  is  not  in  those  paged  fables  in  the  libraries,  (them  I 
neither  accept  nor  reject ;) 

It  is  no  more  in  the  legends  than  in  all  else  ; 

It  is  in  the  present — it  is  this  earth  to-day  ; 

It  is  in  Democracy — (the  j)urport  and  aim  of  all  the 
past ;) 

It  is  the  life  of  one  man  or  one  woman  to-day — the  av- 
erage man  of  to-day ; 

It  is  in  langTiages,  social  customs,  literatures,  arts  ; 

It  is  in  the  broad  show  of  artificial  things,  ships,  ma- 
chinery, politics,  creeds,  modern  improvements, 
and  the  interchange  of  nations, 

All  for  the  average  man  of  to-day. 


2G0  Leaves  oi?  Grass. 


To  a  President. 

All  yon  are  doing  and  saying  is  to  America  dangled 
mirages  ; 

You  have  not  leam'd  of  Nature — of  the  politics  of  Na- 
ture, you  have  not  learn'd  the  great  amplitude, 
rectitude,  impartiality  ; 

You  have  not  seen  that  only  such  as  they  are  for  These 
States, 

And  that  what  is  less  than  they,  must  sooner  or  later 
lift  off  from  These  States. 


TO  THE  STATES, 

To  Identify  the  i6th,  17th,  or  18th  Presidentiad. 

Why  reclining,   interrogating?     Why   myself   and   all 

drowsing  ? 
What  deepening  twilight !    scum  floating  atop  of  the 

waters ! 
Who  are  they,  as  bats  and  night-dogs,  askant  in  the 

Capitol"? 
What  a  filthy  Presidentiad !   (O  south,  yoiu^  torrid  suns ! 

O  north,  your  arctic  fi-eezings!) 
Are  those  really  Congressmen?    are  those   the   great 

Judges?  is  that  the  President? 
Then  I  will  sleep  awhile  yet — for  I  see  that  These  States 

sleep,  for  reasons  ; 
(With  gathering  murk — with  muttering  thunder  and 

lambent  shoots,  we  all  duly  awake. 
South,  north,  east,  west,  inland  and  seaboard,  we  will 

surely  awake.) 


I 


Leaves  of  Grass. 


DRUM-TAPS, 


Aroused  and  angnj, 

I  thought  to  beat  the  alarum,  and  urge  relentless  ivar; 

But  soon  my  fingers  fail' d  me,  my  face  droojy'd,  and  I 

resign'd  myself. 
To  sit  by  the  loounded  and  soothe  them,  or  silently  watch 

the  dead. 


DRUM-TAPS. 


'  First,  O  songs,  for  a  prelude. 

Lightly  strike  on  the  stretch'd  tympanum,  pride  and  joy 
in  my  city, 

How  she  led  the  rest  to  arms — how  she  gave  the  cue, 

How  at  once  with  hthe  limbs,  imwaiting  a  moment,  she 
sprang  ; 

(O  superb  !  O  Manhattan,  my  own,  my  peerless ! 

O  strongest  you  in  the  hour  of  danger,  in  crisis !  O 
truer  than  steel !) 

How  you  sprang  !  how  you  threw  off  the  costumes  of 
peace  with  indifferent  hand  ; 

How  your  soft  opera-music  changed,  and  the  di'um  and 
fife  were  heard  in  their  stead  ; 

llov/  you  led  to  the  war,  (that  shall  serve  for  oui'  pre- 
lude, songs  of  soldiers,) 

How  Manhattan  drum-taps  led. 


2G2  Leaves  of  Gkass. 


^  Forty  years  had  I  in  my  city  seen  soldiers  parading  ; 
Forty  years  as  a  pageant — till  unawares,  the  Lady  of 

this  teeming  and  turbulent  cit}^, 
Sleepless,  amid  her  ships,  her  houses,  her  incalculable 

wealth, 
"With  her  million  children  around  her — suddenly, 
At  dead  of  night,  at  news  from  the  south, 
Incens'd,  struck  with  clench'd  hand  the  pavement. 

^  A  shock  electric — the  night  sustain'd  it ; 
Till  with  ominous  hum,  oui'  hive  at  day-break  pour'd 
out  its  mp'iads. 

*  From    the    houses    then,    and    the    workshops,    and 

through  all  the  doorways. 
Leapt  they  tumultuous — and  lo  !  Manhattan  arming. 


^  To  the  drum-taps  prompt. 

The  young  men  falling  in  and  arming  ; 

The  mechanics  arming,  (the  trowel,  the  jack-plane,  the 

blacksmith's  hammer,  tost  aside  with  precipita- 
tion ;) 
The  lawyer  leaving  his  office,  and  arming — the  judge 

leaving  the  court  ; 
The  driver  deserting  his  wagon  in  the  street,  jumping 

down,  throwing  the  reins  abruptly  down  on  the 

horses'  backs  ; 
The  salesman  leaving  the  store — the  boss,  book-keeper, 

porter,  all  leaving  ; 
Squads   gather  everywhere  by  common  consent,   and 

arm  ; 
The  new  recruits,  even  boys — the  old  men  show  them 

how  to  wear  their  accoutrements — they  buckle 

the  straps  carefully ; 
Outdoors   arming — indoors   arming — the   flash  of  the 

musket-barrels  ; 
Tbe  white  tents  cluster  in  camps — the  arm'd  sentries 

around — the  sunrise  cannon,  and  again  at  sunset; 


Dkdm-Taps.  263 

Arm'd  regiments  arrive  every  day,  pass  through  the 

city,  and  embark  from  the  wharves  : 
(How  gcod  they  loot,  as  they  tramp  down  to  the  river, 

sweaty,  with  their  guns  on  tlieir  shoulders  ! 
How  I  love  them  !  how  I  could  hug  them,  with  their 

brown  faces,   and  their  clothes  and  knapsacks 

cover'd  with  dust !) 
The   blood   of  the   city  up — arm'd  !    arm'd  !    the   cry 

everj^where  ; 
The  flags  flung  out  fi'om  the  steeples  of  churches,  and 

from  all  the  public  buildings  and  stores  ; 
The  tearful  parting — the  mother  kisses  her  son — the 

son  kisses  his  mother  ; 
(Loth  is  the  mother  to  part — yet  not  a  word  does  she 

speak  to  detain  him  ;) 
The  tumultuous  escort — the  ranks  of  policemen  preced- 
ing, clearing  the  way ; 
The  unpent  enthusiasm — the  wild  cheers  of  the  crowd 

for  their  favorites  ; 
The  artillery — the  silent  cannons,  bright  as  gold,  dravai 

along,  rumble  lightly  over  the  stones  ; 
(Silent  cannons — soon  to  cease  youi'  silence  ! 
Soon,  unlimberd,  to  begin  the  red  business  ;) 
All   the    mutter   of    preparation  —  all    the    determin'd 

arming  ; 
The  hospital   service — the   lint,  bandages,  and  medi- 
cines ; 
The  women  volunteering  for  nurses — the  work  begun 

for,  in  earnest — no  mere  parade  now  ; 
"War !  an  arm'd  race  is  advancing ! — the  welcome  for 

battle — no  turning  away  ; 
War !  be  it  weeks,  months,  or  years — an  arm'd  race  is 

advancing-  to  welcome  it. 


®  Mannahatta  a-march  ! — and  it's  O  to  sing  it  well ! 
It's  O  for  a  manly  life  in  the  camp ! 

'  And  the  sturdy  artillery ! 

The  guns,  bright  as  gold — the  work  for  giants — to  serve 
well  the  G-uns  : 


23 i  Leaves  oj  Gua£3. 

Unlimber  them  !  no  more,  as  the  past  forty  years,  for 

salutes  for  courtesies  merely  ; 
Put  in  something  else  now  besides  powder  and  wadding. 


®  And  you,  Lady  of  Shij)s  !  you  Mannahatta  ! 
Old  matron  of  this  proud,  friendly,  turbulent  city ! 
Often  in  peace  and  wealth  you  were  pensive,  or  covertly 

frown'd  amid  all  your  children  ; 
But  now  you  smile  with  joy,  exulting  old  Mannahatta ! 


1861. 

Arm'i)  year  !  year  of  the  struggle  ! 

No  dainty  rhymes  or  sentimental  love  verses  for  j^ou, 
terrible  year ! 

Not  you  as  some  pale  poetling,  seated  at  a  desk,  lisping 
cadenzas  piano  ; 

But  as  a  strong  man,  erect,  clothed  in  blue  clothes,  ad- 
vancing, carrying  a  rifle  on  your  shoxilder. 

With  well-gristled  body  and  sunburnt  face  and  hands 
— with  a  knife  in  the  belt  at  your  side. 

As  I  heard  you  shouting  loud — youi-  sonorous  voice 
ringing  across  the  continent ; 

Your  masculine  voice,  O  year,  as  rising  amid  the  great 
cities, 

Amid  the  men  of  Manhattan  I  saw  you,  as  one  of  the 
workmen,  the  dwellers  in  Manhattan  ; 

Or  with  large  steps  crossing  the  prairies  out  of  Illinois 
and  Indiana, 

Rapidly  crossing  the  West  with  springy  gait,  and  de- 
scending the  Alleghanies  ; 

Or  down  from  the  great  lakes,  or  in  Pennsylvania,  or  on 
deck  along  the  Ohio  river  ; 

Or  southward  along  the  Tennessee  or  Cumberland  rivers, 
or  at  Chattanooga  on  the  mountain  top. 


> 


Drum-Taps.  265 

Saw  I  your  gait  and  saw  I  your  sinewy  limbs,  clothed 
iu  blue,  bearing  weapons,  robust  year  ; 

Heard  your  determin'd  voice,  lauucli'd  forth  again  and 
again  ; 

Year  that  suddenly  sang  by  the  mouths  of  the  round- 
lipp'd  cannon, 

I  repeat  you,  hurrying,  crashing,  sad,  distracted  year. 


BEAT!  BEAT  I  DRUMS 


Beat  !  beat !  drums  ! — Blow !  bugles !  blow  ! 

Through   the  windows — through  doors — burst  Kke   a 

ruthless  force. 
Into  the  solemn  church,  and  scatter  the  congregation  ; 
Into  the  school  where  the  scholar  is  studying  ; 
Leave  not  the  bridegroom  quiet — no  happiness  must  he 

have  now  with  his  bride  ; 
Nor  the  peaceful  farmer  any  peace,  plomng  his  field  or 

gathering  his  grain  ; 
So  fierce  you  whirr  and  pound,  you  di'ums — so  shrill 

you  bugles  blow. 


Beat !  beat !   drums  ! — Blow  !   bugles  !  blow  ! 

Over  the  traffic  of  cities — over  the  rumble  of  wheels  in 
the  streets  : 

Are  beds  prepared  for  sleepers  at  night  in  the  houses  ? 
No  sleepers  must  sleep  in  those  beds  ; 

No  bai'gainers'  bargains  by  day — no  brokers  or  specu- 
lators— Would  the,y  continue  ? 

Would  the  talkers  be  talking  ?  would  the  singer  attempt 
to  sing  ? 

Would  the  lawyer  rise  in  the  court  to  state  his  case  be- 
fore the  judge  ? 

Then  rattle  quicker,  heavier  drums — you  bugles  wilder 
blow. 

12 


266  Le-\ves  of  Geass. 


Beat!   beat!   cli'ums ! — Blow!  bugles!  blow! 

Make  no  parley — stop  for  uo  expostulation  ; 

Mind  not  tlie  timid— mind  not  the  weeper  or  prayer  ; 

Mind  not  tlie  old  man  beseeching  the  young  man  ; 

Let  not  the  child's  voice  be  heard,  nor  the  mother's  en- 
treaties ; 

Make  even  the  trestles  to  shake  the  dead,  where  they 
lie  awaiting  the  hearses, 

So  strong  you  thump,  O  terrible  drums— so  loud  you 
bugles  blow. 


^vvw\f.ft 


From  Paumanok   Starting   I  Fly   like  a 
Bird. 

From  Paumanok  starting,  I  fly  like  a  bird. 

Around  and  around  to  soar,  to  sing  the  idea  of  all ; 

To  the  north  betaking  myself,  to  sing  there  arctic 
songs, 

To  Kanada,  'till  I  absorb  Kanada  in  myself — to  Michi- 
gan then, 

To  Wisconsin,  Iowa,  Minnesota,  to  sing  their  songs, 
(they  are  inimitable  ;) 

Then  to  Ohio  and  Indiana  to  sing  theirs— to  Missouri 
and  Kansas  and  Arkansas,  to  sing  theirs, 

To  Tennessee  and  Kentucky— to  the  Carolinas  and 
Georgia,  to  sing  theirs. 

To  Texas,  and  so  along  up  toward  Cahfornia,  to  roam 
accepted  everywhere  ; 

To  sing  first,  (to  the  tap  of  the  war-drum,  if  need  be,) 

Tlie  idea  of  all— of  the  western  world,  one  and  insepa- 
rable, 

And  then  the  song  of  each  member  of  These  States. 


Deum-Taps.  267 


Rise,   O  Days,   from  your  Fathomless  Deeps. 

EiSE,  O   clays,    from   your   fatlioniless   deeps,   till   you 

loftier,  fiercer  sweep ! 
Long   for  my  soul,   hungering  gymiiasiic,  I  devora-'d 

what  the  earth  gave  me  ; 
Long  I  roam'd  the  woods  of  the  north — long  I  w'atch'd 

Niagara  pouring  ; 
I  travel'd  the  prairies  over,  and  slept  on  their  breast — 

I  cross'd  the  Nevadas,  I  cross'd  the  plateaus  ; 
I  ascended  the  towering  rocks  along  the  Pacific,  I  saii'd 

out  to  sea  ; 
I  saii'd  through  the  storm,  I  was  refresl^'d  by  the  storm  ; 
I  watch'd  with  joy  the  threatening  maws  of  the  weaves  ; 
I  mark'd  the  white  combs  where  they  career'd  so  high, 

curling  over  ; 
I  heard  the  wind  piping,  I  saw  the  black  clouds  ; 
Saw  from  below  what  arose  and  mounted,  (O  superb  !  O 

wild  as  my  heart,  and  powerful !) 
Heard  the  continuous  thunder,  as  it  beUow'd  after  the 

lightning  ; 
Noted  the  slender  and  jagged  threads  of  lightning,  as 

sudden  and  fast  amid  the  din  they  chased  each 

other  across  the  sky  ; 
— These,   and  such  as  these,  I,  elate,  saw — saw  with 

wonder,  yet  pensive  and  masterful ; 
All  the  menacirTg  might  of  the  globe  uprisen  around 

me  ; 
Yet  there  with  my  soul  I  fed — I  fed  content,  super- 
cilious. 


'Twas  well,  O  soul !  'twas  a  good  preparation  j^ou  gave 

me! 
Now  we  advance  our  latent  and  ampler  hunger  to  fill ; 
Now  we  go  forth  to  receive  what  the  earth  and  the  sea 

never  gave  us  ; 
Not  through  the  mighty  woods  we  go,  but  through  the 

mightier  cities  ; 


268  Leaves  of  Grass. 

Something  for  us  is  pouring  now,  more  tlian  Niagara 

pouring  ; 
Torrents  of  men,  (sources  and  rills  of  the  Northwest, 

are  you  indeed  inexhaustible  ?) 
What,  to  pavements  and  homesteads  here — vv^hat  were 

those  storms  of  the  mountains  and  sea  ? 
What,  to  passions  I  witness  around  me  to-day  ?     Was 

the  sea  risen? 
Was  the  wind  piping  the  pipe  of  death  under  the  black 

clouds  ? 
Lo !  from  deeps  more  unfathomable,  something  more 

deadly  and  savage  ; 
Manhattan,  rising,   advancing  with  menacing  front — 

Cincinnati,  Chicago,  unchain'd  ; 
— What  was  that  swell  I  saw  on  the  ocean  ?  behold 

what  comes  here ! 
How  it  climbs  with  daring  feet   and  hands!  how  it 

dashes ! 
How  the  true  thunder  bellows  after  the  lightning!  how 

bright  the  flashes  of  lightnirg  ! 
How  Demockacy,  with  desperate  vengeful  port  strides 

on,  sliown  through  the  dark  by  those  flashes  of 

lightning ! 
(Yet  a  mournful  wail  and  low  sob  I  fancied  I  heard 

through  the  dark. 
In  a  lull  of  the  deafening  confusion.) 


Thunder  on !  stride  on,  Democracy !  strike  with  venge- 
ful stroke ! 

And  do  you  rise  higher  than  ever  yet,  0  days,  0  cities ! 

Crash  heavier,  heavier  yet,  O  storms !  you  have  done  me 
good  ; 

My  soul,  prepared  in  the  mountains,  absorbs  3'our  im- 
mortal strong  nutriment ; 

— Long  had  I  walk'd  rny  cities,  my  country  roads, 
through  farms,  only  half  satisfled  ; 

One  doubt,  nauseous,  undulating  like  a  snake,  crawl'd 
on  the  ground  before  me, 


Deum-Taps.  269 

Continually  preceding  my  steps,  turning  upon  me  oft, 

ironically  hissing  low  ; 
■ — The  cities  I  loved  so-  well,  I  abandon'd  and  left — I 

sped  to  the  certainties  suitable  to  me  ; 
Hungering,  hungering,  hungering,  for  primal  energies, 

and  Nature's  dauntlessness, 
I  refresli'd  myself  with  it  only,  I  could  relish  it  only  ; 
I  waited  the  bursting  forth  of  the  pent  fire — on  the 

water  and  air  I  waited  long  ; 
—But  now  I  no  longer  wait — I  am  fully  satisfied — I  am 

glutted  ; 
I  have  witness'd  the  true  lightning — I  have  witness'd 

my  cities  electric  ; 
I  have  lived  to  behold  man  burst  forth,  and  warlike 

America  rise  ; 
Hence  I  will  seek  no  more  the  food  of  the  northern  sol- 
itary wilds. 
No  more  on  the  mountains  roam,  or  sail  the  stormy  sea. 


City  of  Ships. 

City  of  ships! 

(O  the  black  shii^s !  0  the  fierce  ships ! 

O  the  beautiful,  sharp-bow'd  steam-ships  and  sail-ships!) 

City  of  the  world  1   (for  all  races  are  here  ; 

All  the  lands  of  the  earth  make  contributions  here  ;) 

City  of  the  sea!  city  of  hurried  and  glittering  tides! 

City  whose  gleeful  tides  continually  rush  or  recede, 
whirling  in  and  out,  with  eddies  and  foam  ! 

City  of  wharves  and  stores !  city  of  tall  facades  of  mar- 
ble and  iron ! 

Proud  and  passionate  city !  mettlesome,  mad,  extrava- 
gant city ! 

Spring  up,  O  city !  not  for  peace  alone,  but  be  indeed 
yourself,  v>^arlike ! 

Fear  not !  submit  to  no  models  but  your  own,  O  city ! 

Behold  me !  incarnate  me,  as  I  have  incarnated  you  ! 


270  Leaves  of  Grass. 

I  have  rejected  notliing  j^ou   offer'd   me — whom  you 

adopted,  I  have  adopted  ; 
Good  or  bad,  I  never  question  you — I  love  all — I  do  not 

condemn  anytlnug ; 
I  chant  and  celebrate  all  that  is  yours — yet  peace  no 

more  ; 
In  peace  I  chanted  peace,  but  now  the  drum  of  war  is 

mine  ; 
War,  red  war,  is  my  song  through  your  streets,  O  city  ! 


The   Centenarian's   Story. 
volunteer  of  1861-2. 

(At  Washington  Park,  Brooklyn,  assisting  the  Centenarian.) 

'  Give  me  your  hand,  old  Kevolutionary  ; 

The  hill-top  is  nigh — but  a  few  steps,  (make  room,  gen- 
tlemen ;) 

Up  the  path  you  have  follow'd  me  well,  spite  of  your 
hundred  and  extra  years  ; 

You  can  walk,  old  man,  though  your  eyes  are  almost 
done  ; 

Your  faculties  serve  you,  and  presently  I  must  have 
them  serve  me. 

^  Rest,  while  I  tell  what  the  crowd  around  us  means  ; 
On  the  plain  below,  recruits  are  drilling  and  exercising; 
There  is  the  camp — one  regiment  departs  to-morrow  ; 
Do  you  hear  the  officers  giving  the  orders  ? 
Do  you  hear  the  clank  of  the  muskets? 

^  Why,  what  comes  over  you  now,  old  man? 

Why  do  you  tremble,  and  clutch  my  hand  so  conwal- 

sively  ? 
The  troops  are  but  drilling — they  are  yet  surrounded 

with  smiles  ; 


Drum-Taps.  271 

Around  tliem,  cA  liaucl,  the  well-cli-est  friends,  and  the 
women  ; 

"While  splendid  and  warm  the  afternoon  sun  shines 
down  ; 

Green  the  midsummer  verdure,  and  fresh  blows  the 
dallying-  breeze, 

O'er  j)roud"  and  peaceful  cities,  and  arm  of  the  sea  be- 
tween. 

^  But  drill  and  parade  are  over — they  march  back  to 
qiiarters  ; 

Only  hear  that  approval  of  hands !  hear  what  a  clap- 
ping ! 

*  As  wending,  the  crowds  now  part  and  disperse — but 

we,  old  man. 
Not  for  nothing  have  I  brought  you  hither^we  must 

remain  ; 
You  to  speak  in  your  tiu'U,  and  I  to  listen  and  tell. 


THE  CENTENARIAN. 

®  "When  I  clutch'd  your  hand,  it  was  not  with  terror  ; 
But  suddenly,  pouring  about  me  here,  on  every  side. 
And  below  there  where  the  boys  were  drilling,  and  up 

the  slopes  they  ran. 
And  where  tents  are  pitch'd,  and   wherever  you   see, 

south  and  south-east  and  south-west, 
Over  hills,  across  lowlands,  and  in  the  skirts  of  woods, 
And  along  the  shores,  in  mire  (novv^  fill'd  over),  came 

again,  and  suddenly  raged. 
As  eighty-five   years  a-gone,  no  mere  parade  receiv'd 

with  applause  of  friends. 
But  a  battle,  which  I  took  part  in  myself — aye,  long  ago 

as  it  is,  I  took  part  in  it, 
W^alking  then  this  hill-top,  this  same  ground. 

'  Aye,  this  is  the  ground  ; 

My  blind  eyes,  even  as  I  speak,  behold  it  re-peopled 
from  graves ; 


272  Leaves  of  Geass. 

The  years  recede^  pavements  and  stately  houses  disap- 
pear ; 

Ftudo  forts  appear  again,  the  old  hoop'd  guns  are 
mounted  ; 

I  see  the  lines  of  rais'd  earth  stretching  from  river  to 
bay; 

I  mark  the  vista  of  Vt'aters,  I  mark  the  uplands  and 
slopes  : 

Here  we  lay  encamp'd — it  va^this  time  in  summer  also. 

^  As  I  talk,  I  remember  all — I  remember  the  Declara- 
tion ; 

It  vras  read  here — the  whole  army  paraded — it  was 
read  to  us  here  ; 

By  his  staff  surrounded,  the  General  stood  in  the  mid- 
dle— he  held  up  his  unsheath'd  sword, 

It  giitter'd  in  the  sun  in  fall  sight  of  the  army. 

^  'Twas  a  bold  act  then  ; 

The  English  v/ar-ships  had  just  arrived — the  king  had 

sent  them  from  over  the  sea  ; 
We  could  V.atch  dovm  the  lower  bay  where  they  lay  at 

anchor. 
And  the  transports,  sv/arming  with  soldiers. 

'°  A  few  days  more,  and  they  landed — and  then  the 
battle. 

"  Twenty  thousand  were  brought  against  us, 
A  veteran  force,  furnish'd  with  good  artiller3^ 

'-  I  tell  not  now  the  whole  of  the  battle  ; 

But  one  brigade,  early  in  the  forenoon,  order'd  forward 

to  engage  the  red-coats  ; 
Of  that  brigade  I  tell,  and  how  steadily  it  march'd, 
And  how  long  and  how  well  it  stood,  confronting  death. 

"  Who  do  you  think  that  was,  marching  steadily,  stern- 
ly confTontiug  death  ? 

It  was  the  brigade  of  the  youngest  men,  two  thousand 
stronsf. 


Deuh-Taps.  273 

Kais'd  in  Virginia  and  Maryland,  and  many  of  tliem 
known  personally  to  tlie  General. 

"  Jauntily  forward  they  went  witli  qnicli  step  toward 

Gowanns'  waters  ; 
Till  of  a   sudden,  nnlook'd  for,  by  defiles  tlirougli  tlie 

woods,  gain'd  at  night. 
Tug   British    advancing,    wedging    in   fi'om   the   east, 

fiercely  playing  their  guns. 
That  brigade  of  the  youngest  was  cut  off,  and  at  the 

enemy's  mercy. 

^^  The  General  watch'd  them  from  this  hill ; 

They  made  repeated  desperate  attempts  to  burst  their 

environment ; 
Then   drew  close   together,   very   compact,    their  flag 

flying  in  the  middle  ; 
But  O  from  the  hills  how  the  cannon  were  thinning  and 

thinning  them  ! 

'^  It  sickens  me  yet,  that  slaughter ! 

I  saw  the  moisture  gather  in  drops  on  the  face  of  the 

General ; 
I  saw  how  he  wrung  his  hands  in  ang-uish. 

"  Meanwhile   tlie  British  maneuver 'd  to  draw  us  out 

for  a  pitch'd  battle  ; 
But  we  dared  not  trust  the  chances  of  a  joitch'd  battle. 

'^  We  fought  the  fight  in  detachments  ; 

Sallying  forth,  we  fought  at  several  points — but  in  each 

the  luck  was  against  us  ; 
Our  foe  advancing,  steadily  getting  the  best  of  it,  push'd 

us  back  to  the  works  on  this  hill  ; 
Till  we  turu'd,  menacing,  here,  and  then  he  left  us. 

"  That  was  the  going  out  of  the  brigade  of  the  young- 
est men,  two  thousand  strong  ; 
Few  return'd — nearly  all  remain  in  Brooklyn. 

''"  That,  and  here,  my  General's  first  battle  ; 


274  Leaves  of  Geass. 

No  womou  looking  en,  nor  sunshine  to  bask  in — it  did 

not  conclude  with  applause  ; 
Nobody  clapp'd  bauds  here  then. 

^'  But  in  darkness,  in  mist,  on  the  ground,  under  a  chill 

rain, 
"Wearied  that  night  we  lay,  foil'd  and  sullen  ; 
While  scornfully  laugh'd  many  an  arrogant  lord,  off 

against  us  encamp'd. 
Quite  within   hearing,   feasting,  klinking  wine-glasses 

together  over  their  victory. 

^^  So,  dull  and  damp,  and  another  day  ; 
But  the  night  of  that,  mist  hfting,  rain  ceasing, 
Silent  as  a  ghost,  while  they  thought  they  were  sure  of 
him,  my  General  retreated. 

^^  I  saw  him  at  the  river-side, 

Down  by  the  ferry,  lit  by  torches,  hastening  the  embar- 

.    cation  ; 
My  General  waited  till  the  soldiers  and  wounded  were 

all  pass'd  over  ; 
And  then,  (it  Avas  just  ere  sunrise,)  these  eyes  rested  on 
him  for  the  last  time. 

'*  Every  one  else  seem'd  fiU'd  V7ith  gloom  ; 
Many  no  doubt  thought  of  capitulation. 

-'  But  when  my  General  pass'd  me, 

As  he  stood  in  his  boat,  and  look'd  toward  the  coming 

sun, 
I  saw  something  diiierent  from  capitulation. 

TERMINUS. 

^^  Enough — the  Centenarian's  story  ends  ; 
The  two,  the  past  and  present,  have  interchanged  ; 
I  myself,  as  connecter,  as  chansonnier  of  a  great  future, 
am  now  speaking. 


Drum-Taps.  275 

^^  And  is  tliis  tlie  ground  Wasliingtou  trod  ? 

And  tbese  waters  I  listlessly  daily  cross,  are  tliese  the 

waters  lie  cross'd, 
As  resolute  in  defeat,  as  other  generals  in  tlieir  proudesb 

triumphs  ? 

"^  It  is  well — a  lesson  like  that,  always  comes  good  ; 

I  must  copy  the  story,  and  send  it  eastward  and  west- 
ward ; 

I  must  preserve  that  look,  as  it  beam'd  on  you,  rivers 
of  Brooklyn. 

-°  See !    as  the   annual  round  returns,   the  phantoms 

return  ; 
It  is  the  27th  of  August,  and  the  British  have  landed  ; 
The  battle  begins,  and  goes  against  us — behold !  through 

the  smoke,  Washington's  face  ; 
The  brigade  of  Vii'ginia  and  Maryland  have  march'd 

forth  to  intercept  the  enemy  ; 
They  are  cut  off — murderous  artillery  fi'om  the  hills 

plays  upon  them  ; 
Rank  after  rank  falls,  while  over  them  silently  droops 

the  flag. 
Baptized   that    day  in   many  a  young  man's  bloody 

v.^ounds, 
In  death,  defeat,  and  sisters',  mothers'  tears. 


^^  Ah,  hills  and  slopes  of  Brooklyn  !  I  perceive  you  are 
Tiiore  valuable  than  your  owners  supjjosed  ; 

Ah,  river  !  henceforth  you  will  be  illumin'd  to  me  at 
sunrise  with  something;  besides  the  sun. 


^'  Encampments  new !  in  the  midst  of  you  stands  an 

encampment  very  old  ; 
Stands  forever  the  camn  of  the  dead  brigade. 


276  Leaves  or  Geass. 


An  Army   Corps  on  the  March. 

With  its  cloud  of  skirmisbei's  in  advance, 

With  now  tiie  sound  of  a  single  shot,  snapping  like  a 

whip,  and  now  an  irregular  Yoiley, 
The  swarming  ranks  press  on  and  on,  the  dense  brigades 

press  on  ; 
Gli  tering  dimly,  toiling  under  the  sun — the  dust-cover'd 

men, 
In   columns   rise   and  fall  to  the  undulations  of  the 

gi'ound, 
With   artillery   interspers'd — the   wheels    rumble,    the 

horses  sweat. 
As  the  army  corps  advances. 


Cavahy   Crossing  a  Ford. 

A  LINE  in  long  array,  Vv^iere  they  wind  betwixt  gTeen 

islands  ; 
They  take  a  serpentine  course — their  arms  flash  in  the 

sun — Hark  to  the  musical  clank  ; 
Behold  the  silvery  river — in  it  the  splashing  horses, 

loitering,  stop  to  drink  ; 
Behold  the  brown-faced  men — each  group,  each  person^ 

a  picture — the  negligent  rest  on  the  saddles  ; 
Some  emerge  on  the  opposite  bank — others  are  just 

entering  the  ford — while, 
Scarlet,  and  blue,  and  snow}'  white, 
The  guidon  flags  flutter  gaily  in  the  wind. 


Drdm-Tap3.  277 


Bivouac  on  a  Mountain  Side. 

I  SEE  before  me  now,  a  traveling  army  halting  ; 

Below,  a  fertile  valley  sj)read,  with  barns,  and  the 
orchards  of  summer  ; 

Behind,  the  terraced  sides  of  a  monntaia,  abrupt  in 
places,  rising  high  ; 

Broken,  with  rocks,  v/ith  clinging  cedars,  with  tail 
shapes,  dingily  seen  ; 

The  numerous  camp-fii'es  scatter'd  near  and  far,  some 
away  up  on  the  mountain  ;  < 

The  shadowy  forms  of  men  and  horses,  looming,  large- 
sized,  flickering  ; 

And  over  all,  the  sky — the  sky !  far,  far  out  of  reach, 
studded,  breaking  out,  the  eternal  stars. 


— «a>i^3§g®I>«G— 


By  the  Bivouac's  Fitful  Flame. 

By  the  bivouac's  fitful  flame, 

A  procession  winding  around  me,  solemn  and  sweet  and 

slow  ; — but  first  I  note. 
The  tents  of  the  sleeping  army,  the  fields'  and  woods' 

dim  outhne. 
The  darkness,  lit  by  spots  of  kindled  fire — the  silence  ; 
Like  a  phantom  far  or  near  an  occasional  figure  moving  ; 
The  shrubs  and  trees,  (as  I  left  my  eyes  they  seem  to 

be  stealthily  watching  me  ;) 
"While   wind  in    procession   thoughts,    O  tender   and 

wondrous  thoughts, 
Of  life  and  death — of  home  and  the  past   and  loved, 

and  of  those,  that  are  far  away  ; 
A  solemn  and  slow  procession  there  as  I  sit  on  the 

ground, 
By  the  bivouac's  fitful  flame. 


278  Leaves  of  Geaks. 


Come  Up  from  the  Fields,  Father. 


'  Come  up  from  tlie  fields,  father,  liere's  a  letter  from 

our  Pete  ; 
And  come  to  the  front  door,  mother — here's  a  letter 

from  thy  dear  son. 


^  Lo,  'tis  autumn  ; 

Lo,  where  the  trees,  deeper  green,  yellower  and  redder, 

Cool  and  sweeten  Ohio's  villages,  with  leaves  ilutteriug 

in  the  moderate  wind  ; 
Where  apples  ripe  in  the  orchards  hang,  and  grapes  on 

the  trellis'd  vines  ; 
(Smell  you  the  smell  of  the  grapes  on  the  vines  ? 
Smell  you  the   buckwheat,  where  the  bees  vvere  lately 

buzzing  ?) 

^  Above  all,  lo,  the  sky.  so  calm,  so  transparent  after 
the  rain,  and  with  wondrous  clouds  ; 

Below,  too,  all  calm,  all  vital  and  beautiful— and  the 
farm  prospers  well. 

3 

■*  Down  ia  the  fields  all  prospers  well  ; 

But  now  from  the   fields  come,  father — come    at  the 

daughter's  call ; 
And  come  to  the  entry,  mother — to  the  front  door  come, 

right  away. 

^  Fast  as  she  can  she  hurries — something  ominous — 

lier  steps  trembling  ; 
She  does  not  tarry  to  smooth  her  hail',  nor  adjust  her 

cap. 

°  Open  the  envelope  quickly  ; 


Dkum-Taps.  279 

O  this  is  not  our  son's  writing,  j^et  liis  name  is  sign'd  ; 
O  a  strange  liaud  writes  for  onr  dear  son — 0  stricken 

mother's  soul ! 
All   swims   before   her   eyes — flashes   with   black — she 

catches  the  main  words  only  ; 
Sentences  broken — gunshot  ivound  in  the  breast,  cavalry 

sHrmish,  taken  to  hospital, 
At  present  low,  h\d  ivill  soon  be  better. 

4 

'  Ah,  now  the  single  figure  to  me, 

Amid  all  teeming  and  wealthy  Ohio,  with  all  its  cities 

.   and  farms. 
Sickly  white  in  the  face,  and  dull  in  the  head,  very  faint, 
By  the  jamb  of  a  door  leans. 

*  Grieve  not  so,   dear  mother,  (the  just-grown  daughter 

speaks  through  her  sobs  ; 
The  little  sisters   huddle  around,  sj)eechless  and  dis- 

may'd  ;) 

See,  dearest  mother,  the  letter  sajjs  Fete  will  soon  be  better. 


®  Alas,  poor  boy,  he  will  never  be  better,  (nor  may-be 
needs  to  bo  better,  that  brave  and  simple  soul  ;) 

While  they  stand  at  home  at  the  door,  he  is  dead 
already  ; 

The  only  son  is  dead. 

'"  But  the  mother  needs  to  be  better  ; 

She,  with  thin  form,  presently  drest  in  black  ; 

By  day   her    meals    untouch'd — then   at  night  fitfully 

sleeping,  often  waking, 
In  the  midnight  waking,  weeping,  longing  with  one  deep 

longing, 
O  that  she  might  withdraw  unnoticed — silent  from  life, 

escape  and  withdi'aw. 
To  follow,  to  seek,  to  be  with  her  dear  dead  son. 


280  Leaves  or  Grass. 

Vigil  Strange  I  Kept  on  the  Field  one 
Night. 

Vigil  strange  I  kept  on  the  field  one  night : 

When  yon,  my  son  and  my  comrade,  dropt  at  my  side 

that  day, 
One   look  I  but  gave,  which  your  dear  eyes   return'd, 

with  a  look  I  shall  never  forget  ; 
One  touch  of  your  hand  to  mine,  O  boy,  reach'd  up  as 

you  lay  on  the  ground ; 
Then  onward  I  sped  in  the  batlle,  the  even-contested 

battle  ; 
Till  late  in  the  night  reliev'd,  to  the  place  at  last  again  I 

made  my  way ; 
Found  you  in  death  so  cold,  dear  comrade — found  your 

body,  son  of  responding  kisses,  (never  again  on 

earth  responding  ;) 
Bared  your  face  in  the  starlight — curious  the  scene — 

cool  blew  the  moderate  night-wind  ; 
Long  there  and  then  in  vigil  I  stood,  dimly  around  me 

the  battle-field  spreading  ; 
Vigil  wondrous  and  vigil  svv'cet,  there  in  the  fragrant 

silent  night ; 
But  not  a  tear  fell,  not  even  a  long-drawn  sigh — Long, 

long  I  gazed  ; 
Then  on  the  earth  partially  reclining,  sat  by  your  side, 

leaning  my  chin  in  my  hands  ; 
Passing  sweet  hours,  immortal  and  mystic  hours  -with 

you,  dearest  comrade — Not  a  tear,  not  a  word  ; 
Vigil  of  silence,  love  and  death — vigil  for  you,  my  son 

and  my  soldier, 
As  onv/ard  silently  stars  aloft,  eastward  new  ones  up- 

Vv^ard  stole  ; 
Vigil  final  for  you,  brave  boy,  (I  could  not  save  you, 

swift  was  your  death, 
I  faithfully  loved  you  and  cared  for  you  living — I  think 

we  shall  surely  meet  again  ;) 
Till  at  latest  lingering  of  the  night,  indeed  just  as  the 

dawn  appear'd. 
My  comrade  I  vv^rapt  in  his  blanket^  envelop'd  well  his 

form, 


Dbdm-Taps.  281 

Folded  tlie  blanket  well,  tucking  it  carefully  over  head, 

and  carefully  under  feet ; 
And  there  and  then,  and  bathed  by  the  rising  sun,  my 

son  in  his  grave,  in  his  rude-dug  grave  I  de- 
posited ; 
Ending  my  vigil  strange  v\^ith  that — vigil  of  night  and 

battle-field  dim  ; 
Vigil  for  boy  of  responding  kisses,  (never  again  on  earth 

responding ;) 
Vigil  for  comrade  swiftly  slain — vigil  I  never  forget, 

how  as  day  brighten'd, 
I  rose  from  the  chill  ground,  and  folded  my  soldier  well 

in  his  blanket. 
And  buried  him  where  he  fell. 


A  March  in  the  Ranks  Hard-prest,  and 
THE  Road  Unknown. 

A  MAECH  in  the  ranks  hard-presu,  and  the  road  unknovvn; 
A  route  through  a  heavy  wood,  with  muffled  steps  in 

the  darkness  ; 
Our  army  foil'd  with  loss  severe,  and  the  sullen  remnant 

retreating ; 
Till  after  midnight  glimmer  upon  us,  the  lights  of  a 

dim-lighted  building  ; 
We  come  to  an   open  space  in  the  woods,  and  halt  by 

the  dim-lio-hted  building- : 
'Tis  a  large  old  church  at  the  crossing  roads — 'tis  now 

an  impromptu  hospital ; 
— Entering  but  for  a  minute,  I  see  a  sight  beyond  all 

the  pictures  and  poems  ever  made  : 
Shadows  of  deepest,  deepest  black,  just  lit  by  moving- 
candles  and  lamps, 
And  by  one  great  pitchy  torch,  stationary',  with  wild  red 

ilaine,  and  clouds  of  smoke  ; 
By  these,  crowds,  groups  of  forms,  vaguely  I  see,  on  the 

tloo]',  some  in  the  pev/s  laid  down  ; 


282  Leavks  or  Grass. 

At  my  feet  more  distinctly,  a  soldier,  a  mere  lad,  in 

danger  of  bleeding  to  death,  (lie  is  shot  in  the 

abdomen  ;) 
I  staunch  the  blood  temporarily,  (the  youngster's  face 

is  white  as  a  lily  ;) 
Then  before  I  dejDart  I  sweep  my  e^'es  o'er  the  scene, 

fain  to  absorb  it  all ; 
Faces,  varieties,  postures  beyond  description,  most  in 

obscurity,  some  of  them  dead  ; 
Surgeons  operating,  attendants  holding  lights,  the  smell 

of  ether,  the  odor  of  blood  ; 
The  crowd,  O  the  crowd  of  the  bloody  forms  of  soldiers 

— the  yard  outside  also  fill'd  ; 
Some  on  the  bare  ground,  some  on  planks  or  stretchers, 

some  in  the  death-spasm  sweating  ; 
An  occasional  scream  or  cry,  the  doctor's  shouted  orders 

or  calls  ; 
The  glisten  of  the  little  steel  instruments  catching  the 

glint  of  the  torches  ; 
These  I  resume  as  I  chant — I  see  again  the  forms,  I 

smell  the  odor  ; 
Then  hear  outside  the  orders  given.  Fall  in,  my  men, 

Fall  in  ; 
But  first  I  bend  to  the  dying  lad — his  eyes  open — a 

half-smile  gives  he  me  ; 
Then  the  eyes  close,  calmly  close,  and  I  speed  forth  to 

the  darkness. 
Resuming,  marching,  ever  in  darkness  marching,  on  in 

the  ranks, 
The  unknown  road  stiD  marchinj?. 


A  Sight  in  Camp  in  the  Day-break  Grey 
AND  Dim. 

'  A  SIGHT  in  camp  in  the  day-break  grey  and  dim, 
As  from  my  tent  I  emerge  so  early,  sleepless, 
As  slow  I  v/alk  in  the  cool  fi-esh  air,  the  path  near  by 
the  hospital  tent, 


Deum-Taps.  283 

Three  forms  I  see  on   stretchers   lying,  brought   out 

there,  unteuded  lying, 
Over  each  the  blanket  spread,  ample  brownish  woollen 

blanket, 
Grey  and  heavy  blanket,  folding,  covering  ail. 

"  Curious,  I  halt,,  and  silent  stand  ; 

Then  with  light  fingers  I  from  the  face  of  the  nearest, 

the  first,  just  lift  the  blanket : 
Who  are  you,  elderly  man  so  gaunt  and  grim,  with  well- 

grey'd  haii',  and  flesh  all  sunken  about  the  eyes? 
Who  are  you,  my  dear  comrade  ? 

^  Then  to  the  second  I  step — And  who  are  you,  my 

child  and  darling  ? 
Who  are  you,  sweet  boy,  with  cheeks  yet  blooming  ? 

'  Then  to  the  third — a  face  nor  child,  nor  old,  very 
calm,  as  of  beautiful  yellow-white  ivory  ; 

Young  man,  I  think  I  know  you — I  think  this  face  of 
yours  is  the  face  of  the  Christ  himself  ; 

Dead  and  divine,  and  brother  of  all,  and  here  again  he 
lies. 


— 'P-a&&I'Sg'*» 


Not  the  Pilot. 

Not  the  pilot  has  charged  himself  to  bring  his  ship 

into  port,  though  beaten  back,  and  many  times 

baffled  ; 
Not   the   path-flnder,   penetrating  inland,  weary   and 

long. 
By  deserts  parch'cl,  snows-chill'd,  rivers  wet,  perseveres 

till  he  reaches  his  destination, 
More  than  I  have  charged  myself,  heeded  or  unheeded, 

to  compose  a  free  march  for  These  States, 
To  be  exhilarating  music  to  them — a  battle-call,  rousing 

to  arms,  if  need  be — years,  centimes  hence. 


284  ■  Leaves  or  Geas: 


As  Toilsome  I  Wander'd  Virginia's  Woods. 

'  As  TOILSOME  I  wander'd  Virginia's  woods, 

To  the  music  of  rustling  leaves,  kick'd  by  my  feet,  (for 

'twas  autumn,) 
I  mark'd  at  the  foot  of  a  tree  the  grave  of  a  soldier. 
Mortally  vvounded  he,  and  buried  on  the  retreat,  (easily 

all  could  I  understand  ;) 
The  halt  of  a  mid-day  hour,  when  up !  no  time  to  lose 

— ^yet  this  sign  left, 
On  a  tablet  scrawl'd  and  nail'd  on  the  tree  by  the  gi-ave, 
Bold,  cautious,  true,  and  my  loving  comrade. 

^  Long,  long  I  muse,  then  on  my  way  go  wandering  ; 

Many  a  changeful  ssason  to  follow,  and  many  a  scene 
of  life  ; 

Yet  at  times  through  changeful  season  and  scene,  ab- 
rupt, alone,  or  in  the  crowded  street, 

Comes  before  me  the  unknown  soldier's  grave — comes 
the  inscription  rude  in  Virginia's  woods, 

Bold,  cautious,  true,  and  my  loving  comrade. 


i^AftWWWV^ 


Year  that  Trembled  and  Reel'd  Beneath  Me. 

Year  that  trembled  and  reel'd  beneath  me  ! 

Your  summer  wind  was  warm  enough — yet  the  air  I 
breathed  froze  me  ; 

A  thick  gloom  fell  through  the  sunshine  and  darken'd 
roe  ; 

Must  I  change  my  triumphant  songs  ?  said  I  to  my- 
self ; 

Must  I  indeed  learn  to  chant  the  cold  dirges  of  the  baf- 
fled ? 

And  sullen  hymns  of  defeat  ? 


Deum-Taps.  285 

The  Dresser. 

1 

'  An  old  man  bcDcling,  I  come,  among  new  faces, 
Tears  looking  backward,  resuming,  in  answer  to  chil- 
dren. 
Come  tell  us,  old  man,  as  from  young  men  and  maidens 

that  love  me  ; 
Years  lience  of  these  scenes,  of  these  furious  passions, 

these  chances, 
Of  unsm'pass'd  heroes,   (was  one  side  so  brave  ?   the 

other  was  equally  brave  ;) 
Now  be  witness  again — paint  the  mightiesu  armies  of 

earth  ; 
Of  those  armies  so  rapid,  so  wondrous,  what  saw  you  to 

tell  us  ? 
"What  stays  with  you  latest  and  deepest  ?   of  curious 

panics, 
Of   hard-fought   engagements,   or  sieges  tremendous, 

what  deepest  remains  ? 


■  O  maidens  and  young  men  I  love,  and  that  love  me, 

"What  you  ask  of  my  days,  those  the  strangest  and 
sudden  your  talking  recalls  ; 

Soldier  alert  I  arrive,  after  a  long  march,  cover'd  with 
sweat  and  dust ; 

In  the  nick  of  time  I  come,  plunge  in  the  fight,  loudly 
shout  in  the  rush  of  successful  charge  ; 

Enter  the  captur'd  works  ....  yet  lo !  like  a  swift- 
running  river,  they  fade  ; 

Pass  and  are  gone,  they  fade — I  dwell  not  on  soldiers' 
perils  or  soldiers'  joys  ; 

(Both  I  remember  well — many  the  hardships,  few  the 
joys,  yet  I  was  content.) 

^  But  in  silence,  in  dreams'  projections, 
"While  the  world  of  gain  and  appearance  and  mirth  goes 
on, 


286  Leaves  of  Grass. 

So  soon  what  is  over  forgotten,  and  waves  wash  the 

imprints  off  the  sand, 
In  nature's  reverie  sad,  with  hinged  knees  retiu'ning,  I 

enter  the  doors — (while  for  you  up  there, 
Whoever  you  are,  follow  me  without  noise,  and  be  of 

strong  heart.) 

3 

■*  Bearing  the  bandages,  water  and  sponge. 

Straight  and  swift  to  my  wounded  I  go, 

Where  they  lie  on  the  ground,  after  the  battle  brought 

in; 
Where   their   priceless  blood  reddens  the   grass,  the 

ground  ; 
Or  to  the  rows  of  the  hospital  tent,  or  under  the  roof 'd 

hosj)ital ; 
To  the  long  rows  of  cots,  up  and  down,  each  side,  I 

return  ; 
To  each  and  all,  one  after  another,  I  draw  near — not 

one  do  I  miss  ; 
An  attendant  follows,  holding  a  tray — he  carries  a  refuse 

pail. 
Soon  to  be  fill'd  with  clotted  rags  and  blood,  emptied, 

and  fill'd  again. 

^  I  onward  go,  I  stop, 

With  hinged  knees  and  steady  hand,  to  dress  wounds  ; 

I  am  firm  with  each — the  pangs  are  sharp,  yet  unavoid- 
able ; 

One  turns  to  me  his  appealing  eyes — (poor  boy !  I 
never  knew  jon, 

Yet  I  think  I  could  not  refuse  this  moment  to  die  for 
you,  if  that  would  save  you.) 


^  On,  on  I  go — (open,  doors  of  time  !   open,  hospital 

doors ! ) 
The  crush'd  head  I  cbess,  (poor  crazed  hand,  tear  not 

the  bandage  away ;) 
The  neck  of  the  cavalry-man,  with  the  bullet  through 

and  through,  I  examine  ; 


Drum-Taps.  287 

Hard  the  breathing  rattles,  quite  glazed  already  the 

eye,  yet  life  struggles  hard  ; 
(Come,  sweet  death  !  be  persuaded,  0  beautiful  death  ! 
In  mercy  come  quickly.) 

'  From  the  stump  of  the  arm,  the  amputated  hand, 

I  undo  the  clotted  lint,  remove  the  slough,  v/ash  off  the 

matter  and  blood  ; 
Back  on  his  pillow  the  soldier  bends,  with  cui-v'd  neck, 

and  side-falling  head  ; 
His  eyes  are  closed,  his  face  is  pale,  (he  dares  not  look 

on  the  bloody  stump, 
And  has  not  yet  look'd  on  it.) 

*  I  dress  a  wound  in  the  side,  deep,  deep  ; 

But  a  day  or  two  more — for  see,  the  fi-ame  all  wasted 

already,  and  sinking. 
And  the  yellow-blue  countenance  see. 

^  I  dress  the  perforated  shoulder,  the  foot  with  the  bul- 
let wound. 

Cleanse  the  one  with  a  gnawing  and  putrid  gangrene, 
so  sickening,  so  offensive, 

"While  the  attendant  stands  behind  aside  me,  holding 
the  tray  and  pail. 

^°  I  am  faithful,  I  do  not  give  out ; 

The  fractur'd  thigh,  the  knee,  the  wound  in  the  abdo- 
men. 

These  and  more  I  dress  with  impassive  hand — (yet  deep 
in  my  breast  a  fire,  a  burning  flame.) 

5 

"  Thus  in  silence,  in  dreams'  i^rojections, 

Eeturning,  resuming,  I  thread  my  way  through  the 

hospitals  ; 
The  hurt  and  wounded  I  pacify  with  soothing  hand, 
I  sit  by  the  restless  all  the  dark  night — some  are  so 

young ; 
Some  suffer  so  much — I  recall  the  experience  sweet  and 

sad  ; 
(Many  a  soldier's  loving  arms  about  this  neck  have 

cross'd  and  rested. 
Many  a  soldier's  kiss  dwells  on  these  bearded  lips.) 


288  Leaves  of  Grass. 


Long,  too  long,  O  Land, 

Long,  too  long,  O  land, 

Traveling-  roads  all  even  and  peaceful,  you  leain'd  from 
joys  and  prosperity  only  ; 

But  now,  all  now,  to  learn  from  crises  of  angTiish — ad- 
vancing, grappling  with  direst  fate,  and  recoiling 
not; 

And  now  to  conceive,  and  sliow  to  tlie  v\'orld,  what  your 
children  en-masse  really  are  ; 

(For  who  except  myself  has  yet  conceiv'd  what  your 
children  en-masse  really  are  ?) 


—ara&S^S'iXl*-^— 


Give  Me  the  Splendid  Silent  Sun. 


Give  me  the  splendid  silent  sun,  with  all  his  beams  full- 
dazzling  ; 

Give  me  juicy  autumnal  fruit,  ripe  and  red  from  the 
orchard ; 

Give  mo  a  field  where  the  unmow'd  gTass  grows  ; 

Give  me  an  arbor,  give  me  the  trellis'd  grape  ; 

Give  me  fresh  corn  and  w^heat — give  me  serene-moving 
animals,  teaching  content ; 

Give  me  nights  perfectly  quiet,  as  on  high  plateaus 
west  of  the  Mississippi,  and  I  looking  up  at  the 
stars  ; 

Give  me  odorous  at  sunrise  a  garden  of  beautiful  flow- 
ers, v/here  I  can  walk  undisturb'd  ; 

Give  me  for  marriage  a  sweet-breath'd  woman,  of  whom 
I  should  never  tire  ; 

Give  me  a  i:)erfect  child — give  me,  away,  aside  from  the 
noise  of  the  world,  a  rural  domestic  life  ; 

Give  me  to  warble  spontaneou.s  songs,  reliev'd,  recluse 
by  myself,  for  my  own  ears  onlj' ; 


1 


Dp.um-Taps.  289 

Give  me  solitude — give  me  Nature — give  me  again,  O 

Nature,  your  primal  sauities ! 
— These,  demaucTing  to  liave  tliem,  (tired  with  cease- 
less excitement,  and  rack'd  by  the  war-strife  ;) 
These  to  procure,  iucsssautly  asliing,   rising  in   cries 

from  my  heart, 
While  yet  incessantly  asking,  still  I  adhere  to  my  city  ; 
Day  upon  day,  and  year  upon  year,  O  city,  wall^iug  your 

streets. 
Where  you  hold  me  enchain'd  a  certain  time,  refusing 

to  give  me  up  ; 
Yet  giving  to  make  me  glutted,  enrich'd  of  soul — you 

give  me  forever  faces  ; 
(0  I  see  what  I  sought  to  escape,  confronting,  reversing 

my  cries  ; 
I  see  my  own  soul  trampling  down  what  it  ask'd  for.) 


Keep  your  sj^lendid,  silent  sun  ; 

Keep  your  woods,  O  Nature,  and  the  quiet  places  by 
the  woods ; 

Keej)  your  fields  of  clover  and  timothy,  and  your  corn- 
fields and  orchards  ; 

Keep  the  blossoming  buckwheat  fields,  where  the  Ninth- 
month  bees  hum  ; 

Give  me  faces  and  streets  !  give  me  these  i)hantoms  in- 
cessant and  endless  along  the  trottoirs ! 

Give  me  interminable  eyes !  give  me  women !  give  me 
comi-ades  and  lovers  by  the  thousand ! 

Let  me  see  new  ones  every  day!  let  me  hold  new  ones 
by  the  hand  every  day  ! 

Give  me  such  shows !  give  me  the  streets  of  Manhat- 
tan! 

Give  me  Broadway,  with  the  soldiers  marching — give 
me  the  sound  of  the  trumpets  and  drums  ! 

(The  soldiers  in  companies  or  regiments — some,  start- 
ing away,  fiush'd  and  reckless  ; 

Some,  their  time  up,  retui'ning,  with  thinn'd  ranks — 
young,  yet  very  old,  worn,  marching,  noticing 
nothing  ;) 

13 


290  Lrwes  of  Grass. 

— Give  nie  the  shores  and  the  wharves  heavy-fringed 

with  the  black  ships  ! 
0  such  for  me  !  O  an  intense  hfe  !  O  full  to  repletion, 

and  varied ! 
The  life  of  the  theatre,  bar-room,  huge  hotel,  for  me ! 
The  saloon  of  the  steamer  !  the  crowded  excui'sion  for 

me  !  the  torch-light  procession  ! 
The  dense  brigade,  bound  for  the  war,  v/ith  high  piled 

military  wagons  following  ; 
People,  endless,  streaming,  with  strong  voices,  jDassions, 

pageants ; 
Manhattan  streets,  with  their  powerful  throbs,  with  the 

beating  drums,  as  now ; 
The  endless  and  noisy  chorus,  the  rustle  and  clank  of 

muskets,  (even  the  sight  of  the  wounded ;) 
Manhattan  crowds,  with  their  turbulent  musical  chorus 

— with  varied  chorus,  and  Ught  of  the  siaarkling 

eyes  ; 
Manhattan  faces  and  eyes  forever  for  me. 


Dirge  for  Two  Veterans. 

1 

The  last  sunbeam 
Lightly  falls  from  the  finish'd  Sabbath, 
On  the  pavement  here — and  there  beyond,  it  is  looking, 

Down  a  new-made  double  grave. 

Lo  !  the  moon  ascending ! 
Up  from  the  east,  the  silvery  round  moon  ; 
Beautiful  over  the  house-tops,  ghastly,  phantom  moon  ; 

Immense  and  silent  moon. 

3 

I  see  a  sad  procession. 
And  I  hear  the  sound  of  coming  full-key'd  bugles  ; 


Dkum-Taps.  291 

Ail  the  cliannels  of  the  city  streets  they're  flooding, 
As  with  voices  and  with  tears. 


I  hear  the  gi'eat  drums  pounding, 
And  the  small  dt-ums  steady  v/hirring  ; 
And  every  blow  of  the  great  convulsive  drums, 

Strikes  me  throue:h  and  throu<?h. 


For  the  son  is  brought  with  the  father  ; 
(In  the  foremo -t  ranks  of  the  fierce  assault  they  fell ; 
Two  veterans,  son  and  father,  dropt  together, 

And  the  double  grave  awaits  them.) 


Now  nearer  blow  the  bugles, 
And  the  drums  strike  more  convulsive  ; 
And  the  day-light  o'er  the  pavement  quite  has  faded. 

And  the  strong  dead-march  enwraps  me. 


In  the  eastern  sky  up-buoying. 
The  sorrowful  vast  phantom  moves  illumin'd  ; 
('Tis  some  mother's  large,  transparent  face, 

In  heaven  brighter  growing.) 


O  strong  dead-march,  you  please  me  ! 
O  moon  immense,  with  your  silvery  face  you  soothe  me ! 
O  my  soldiers  twain  !  O  my  veterans,  passing  to  burial ! 

What  I  have  I  also  give  you. 


The  moon  gives  you  hght, 
And  the  bugles  and  the  drums  give  you  music  ; 
And  my  heart,  O  my  soldiers,  my  veterans. 

My  heart  gives  you  love. 


292  Leaves  of  Grass. 


Over  the  Carnage  Rose  Prophetic  a  Voice. 

'  Over  tlie  carnage  rose  prophetic  a  voice. 

Be  not  dishearten 'd — Afl'ection  shall  solve  the  problems 

of  Freedom  yet ; 
Those  who  love   each   other  shall  become  invincible — 

they  shall  yet  make  Columbia  victorious. 

°  Sons  of  the  Mother  of  All !  you  shall  yet  be  victo- 
I'ious ! 

You  shall  yet  laugh  to  scorn  the  attacks  of  all  the  re- 
mainder of  the  earth. 

^  No  danger  shall  balk  Columbia's  lovers  ; 
If  need  be,  a  thousand  shall  sternly  immolate  them- 
selves for  one. 

"•  One  from  Massachusetts  shall  be  a  Missourian's  com- 
rade ; 

From  Maine  and  from  hot  Carolina,  and  another,  an 
Oregonese,  shall  be  friends  triune. 

More  precious  to  each  other  than  all  the  riches  of  the 
earth. 

^  To  Michigan,  Florida  perfumes  shall  tenderly  come  ; 
Not  the  perfumes  of  flowers,  but  sweeter,  and  wafted 
beyond  death. 

^  It  shall  be  customary  in  the  houses  and  streets  to  see 

manly  affection  ; 
The  most  dauntless  and  rude  shall  touch  face  to  face 

lightly  ; 
The  dei^endence  of  Liberty  shall  be  lovers. 
The  continuance  of  Equality  shall  be  comrades. 

'  These  shall  tie  you  and  band  you  stronger  than  hoops 

of  iron  ; 
I,  extatic,  O  partners !  0  lands !  with  the  love  of  lovers 

tie  you. 


DEUM-T.VPS.  293 

^  (Were  you  looking  to  be  held  together  by  the  lawyers? 
Or  by  an  agreement  on  a  paper  ?  or  by  arms  ? 
— Nay — nor  the  world,  nor  any  living  thing,  will   so 
cohere.) 


The  Artilleryman's  Vision. 

While  my  wife  at  my  side  lies  slumbering,  and  the  wars 

are  over  long, 
And  my  head  on  the  pillow  rests  at  home,  and  the  va- 
cant midnight  passes, 
And  through  the   stillness,  through  the  dark,  I  hear, 

just  hear,  the  breath  of  my  infant. 
There  in  the  room,  as  I  wake  from  sleep,  this  vision 

presses  upon  me  : 
The  engagement  opens  there  and  then,  in  fantasy  imreal; 
The  skirmishers  begin — they  crawl  cautiously  ahead — 

I  hear  the  irregular  snap !  snap  ! 
I  hear  the  sounds  of  the  different  missiles — the  short 

t-h-t !  t-h-t !  of  the  rifle  balls  ; 
I  see  the  shells  exploding,  leaving  small  white  clouds — 

I  hear  the  great  shells  shrieking  as  they  pass  ; 
The  grape,  like  the  hum  and  whirr  of  wind  through  the 

trees,  (quick,  tumultuous,  now  the  contest  rages!) 
All  the  scenes  at  the  batteries  themselves  rise  in  detail 

before  me  again  ; 
The  crashing   and  smoking — the  pride  of  the  men  in 

their  pieces  ; 
The  chief  gunner  ranges  and  sights  his  piece,  and  se- 
lects a  fuse  of  the  right  time  ; 
After  firing,  I  see  him  lean  aside,  and  look  eagerly  off 

to  note  the  effect ; 
— Elsewhere  I  hear  the  cry  of  a  regiment  charging — 

(the  young  colonel  leads  himself  this  time,  with 

brandish'd  sword  ;) 
I  see  the  gaps  cut  by  the  enemy's  volleys,  (quickly 

fili'd  u}),  no  delay  ;) 


294  Leaves  of  Gkass. 

I  breatlie  tlie  suffocating  smoke— ^then  the  flat  clouds 

hover  low,  concealing  all ; 
Now  a  strange  lull  comes  for  a  few  seconds,  not  a  shot 

fired  on  either  side  ; 
Then  resumed,  the  chaos  louder  than  ever,  with  eager 

calls,  and  orders  of  officers  ; 
While  fi'om  some  distant  part  of  the  field  the  wind  wafts 

to  my  ears  a  shout  of  applause,  (some  special 

success ;) 
And  ever  the  sound  of  the  cannon,  far  or  near,  (rousing, 

even  in  dreams,  a  devilish  exultation,  and  all  the 

old  mad  joy,  in  the  depths  of  my  soul ;) 
And  ever  the  hastening  of  infantry  shifting  positions — 

batteries,  cavalry,  moving  hither  and  thither  ; 
(The  falling,  dying,  I  heed  not — the  wounded,  dripping 

and  red,  I  heed  not — some  to  the  rear  are  hob- 
bling ;) 
Grime,  heat,  rush — aid-de-canips  galloping  by,  or  on  a 

full  run  ; 
"With  the  patter  of  small  arms,  the  warning  .9-8-^  of  the 

rifles,  (these  in  my  vision  I  hear  or  see,) 
And   bombs   bursting   in  air,    and  at  night  the  vari- 

color'd  rockets. 


I   Saw   Old   General  at  Bay. 

I  SAW  old  General  at  bay  ; 

(Old  as  he  was,  his  grey  eyes  yet  shone  out  in  battle 

like  stars  ;) 
His  small  force  was  now  completely  hemm'd  in,  in  his 

works  ; 
He  call'd  for  volunteers  to  run  the  enemy's  lines — a 

desperate  emergency  ; 
I  saw  a  hundi'ed  and  more  step  forth  from  the  ranks — 

but  two  or  three  were  selected  ; 
I  saw  them   receive  their  orders  aside — they  hsten'd 

with  care — the  adjutant  was  very  grave  ; 
I  saw  them  depart  with  cheerfulness,  freely  risking  then" 

hves. 


Dkum-Taps.  -        295 


O  Tan-Faced  Prairie-Boy. 

O  TAN-FACED  praiiie-boj ! 

Before  j^ou  came  to  camp,  came  many  a  welcon^e  gift ; 

Praises  and  presents  came,  and  nourishing  food — till  at 

last,  among  tlie  recruits, 
You  came,  taciturn,  with  nothing  to  give — we  but  looli'd 

on  each  other, 
When  lo !   more  than  all  the  gifts  of  the  world,  you 

gave  me. 


LOOK  DOWN  FAIR  MOON. 

Look  down,  fair  moon,  and  bathe  this  scene  ; 

Pour  softly  dov/n  night's  nimbus  floods,  on  faces  ghast- 
ly, swollen,  purple  ; 

On  the  dead,  on  their  bacts,  with  their  arms  toss'd 
wide. 

Pour  down  your  unstinted  nimbus,  sacred  moon. 


Reconciliation. 

WoiiD  over  all,  beautiful  as  the  sky  ! 

Beautiful  that  war,  and  all  its  deeds  of  carnage,  must 
in  time  be  utterly  lost ; 

That  the  hands  of  the  sisters  Death  and  Night,  inces- 
santly softly  wash  again,  and  ever  again,  this 
soil'd  world  : 

. . .  For  my  enemy  is  dead — a  man  divine  as  myself  is 
dead  ; 

I  look  where  he  lies,  white-faced  and  still,  in  the  coffin 
— I  draw  near  ; 

I  bend  down,  and  touch  lightly  with  my  lips  the  white 
face  in  the  coffin. 


296  Leaves  of  Geass. 

Spirit  whose  Work  is  Done. 

(IVashingtcii  City^  1865.) 

Spibit  wliose  work  is  clone  !  spirit  of  dreadful  hom-s  ! 
Ere,  departing,  fade  from  my  eyes  yoiu'  forests  of  bayo- 
nets ; 
Spiiit  of  gloom.iest  fears  and  doubts,  (yet  onward  ever 

unfaltering  pressing ;) 
Spirit  of  many  a  solemn  da}',  and  many  a  savage  scene ! 

Electric  spirit ! 
Tliat  with  muttering  voice,  tlirougL  tlie  war  now  closed, 

like  a  tireless  phantom  flitted. 
Rousing  the  land  with  breath  of  flame,  while  you  beat 

and  beat  the  drum  ; 
— Now,  as  the  sound  of  the  drum,  hollow  and  harsh  to 

the  last,  reverberates  round  nie  ; 
As  your  ranks,  your  immortal  ranks,  return,  return 

from  the  battles  ; 
While  the  muskets  of  the  j^oung  men  yet  lean  over  their 

shoulders  ; 
While  I  look  on  the  bayonets  bristling  over  their  shoul- 
ders ; 
While  those  slanted  bayonets,  v/hole  forests  of  them, 

appearing  in  the  distance,  approach  and  pass 

on,  returning  homeward, 
Mo\'ing  Vv'ith  steady  motion,  swaying  to  and  fro,  to  the 

right  and  left. 
Evenly,  lightly  rising  and  falling,   as  the  steps  keep 

time  : 
— Spirit  of  hours  I  knew,  all  hectic  red  one  day,  but 

pale  as  death  next  day  ; 
Touch  my  mouth,  ere  you  dejiart — press  my  lips  close  ! 
Leave  me  j^our  pulses  of  rage !  bequeath  them  to  me ! 

fill  me  with  currents  convulsive  ! 
Let  them  scorch  and  blister  out  of  my  chants,  when  you 

are  gone  ; 
Let  them  identify  you  to  the  future,  in  these  songs. 


Dkum-Taps.  297 


How    SoLEMNj    AS    OnE    BY     OnE. 

OVashington  City,  1S65.) 

How  solemn,  a,3  one  by  one, 

As  the  I'anks  returning,  all  worn  and  sweaty — as  tbe 

men  file  by  where  I  stand  ; 
As  the  faces,  the  masks  appear — as  I  glance  at  the  faces, 

studying  the  masks  ; 
(As  I  glance  upward  out  of  this  page,  studying  you, 

dear  friend,  whoever  you  are  ;) 
How  solemn  the  thought  of  my  whispering  soul,  to  each 

in  the  rauks,  and  to  you  ; 
I  see  behind  each  mask,  that  wonder,  a  kindred  soul  ; 
O  the  bullet  could  never  kill  what  you  really  are,  dear 

friend, 
Nor  the  bayonet  stab  what  you  really  are  : 
. . .  The  soul !  yourself  I  see,  great  as  any,  good  as  the 

best, 
Waiting,  secure  and  content,  which  the  bullet  could 

never  kill, 
Nor  the  bayonet  stab,  O  friend ! 


Not  Youth  Pertains  to  Me. 

Not  youth  pertains  to  me. 

Nor  delicatesse — I  cannot  beguile  the  time  with  talk  ; 
Awkward  in  the  parlor,  neither  a  dancer  nor  elegant ; 
In  the  learn'd  coterie  sitting  constrain'd  and  still — for 

learning  inures  not  to  me  ; 
Beauty,  knowledge,  inure  not  to  me — yet  there  are  two 

or  three  things  inure  to  me  ; 
I  have  nourish'd  the  wounded,  and  sooth'd  many  a 

dying  soldier, 
And  at  intervals,  waiting,  or  in  the  midst  of  camp. 
Composed  these  songs. 


298  Leaves  oi<'  Grass 


To  THE  Leaven'd  Soil  They  Trod. 

To  the  leavcn'd  soil  they  trod,  calling,  I  sing,  for  the 

last ; 
(Not  cities,  noi'  man  alone,  nor  T/ar,  nor  the  dead. 
But  forth  from  my  tent  emerging  for  good — loosing, 

uni5T.ng  the  tent-ropes  ;) 
In  the  freshness,  the  forenoon  aii",  in  the  far-stretching 

circuits  and  vistas,  again  to  peace  restored. 
To  the  fiery  fields  emanative,  and  the  endless  vistas 

beyond — to  the  south  and  the  north  ; 
To  the  leaven'd  soil  of  the  general  western  world,  to 

attest  my  songs, 
(To  the  average  earth,  the  wordless  earth,  Vvitness  of 

war  and  peace,) 
To  the  Alleghanian  hills,  and  the  tireless  Mississippi, 
To  the  rocks  I,  .calling,  sing,  and  all  the  trees  in  the 

woods, 
To  the  ]Dlain  of  the  poems  of  heroes,  to  the  prairie 

spreading  wide, 
To  the  far-off  sea,  and  the  unseen  winds,  and  the  sane 

impalpable  air  ; 
. .  .  And  responding,  they  answer  all,  (but  not  in  words,) 
The   average   earth,   the   witness   of   war   and    peace, 

acknowledges  mutely; 
The  prairie   dravt^s  me  close,  as  the  father,  to  bosom 

broad,  the  son  ; 
The  Northern  ice  and  rain,  that  began  me,  nourish  me 

to  the  end  ; 
But  the  hot  sun  of  the  South  is  to  ripen  my  songs. 


Leaves  of  Grass. 


FACES. 


'  Saunteeing  tlie  pavement,  or  riding  the  country  by- 
road— lo  !  such  faces ! 
Faces  of  friendship,  precision,  caution,  suavity,  ideal- 

The  spiritual,  prescient  face — the  always  welcome,  com- 
mon, benevolent  face. 

The  face  of  the  singing  of  music — the  grand  faces  of 
natural  lawyers  and  judges,  broad  at  the  back- 
top  ; 

The  faces  of  hunters  and  fishers,  bulged  at  the  brov,'.s 
— the  shaved  blanch'd  faces  of  orthodox  citi- 
zens ; 

The  pui-e,  extravagant,  yearning,  questioning  artist's 
face  ; 

The  ugly  face  of  some  beautiful  Soul,  the  handsome  de- 
tested or  despised  face  ; 

The  sacred  faces  of  infants,  the  illuminated  face  of  the 
mother  of  many  children  ; 

The  face  of  an  amour,  the  face  of  veneration  ; 

The  face  as  of  a  dream,  the  face  of  an  immobile  rock  ; 

The  face  withdi-awn  of  its  good  and  bad,  a  castrated 
face  ; 

A  wild  hawk,  his  wings  clipp'd  by  the  clipper  ; 

A  stallion  that  yielded  at  last  to  the  thongs  and  knife 
of  the  o'elder. 


300  Leates  or  GexVss. 

^  Sauntering  the  pavement,  thus,  or  crossing  the  cease- 
less fei'ry,  faces,  and  faces,  and  faces  : 
I  see  them,  and  complain  not,  and  am  content  with  all. 


^  Do  you  suppose  I  could  be  content  with   all,  if  I 
thought  them  their  own  finale  ? 

*  This  now  is  too  lamentable  a  face  for  a  man  ; 
Some  abject  louse,  asking  leave  to  be — cringing  for  it ; 
Some  milli-nosed  maggot,  blessing  what  lets  it  wrig  to 

its  hole, 

^  This  face  is  a  dog's  snout,  sniffing  for  garbage  ; 
Snakes  nest  in  that  mouth — I  hear  the  sibilant  threat. 

"  This  face  is  a  haze  more  chill  than  the  arctic  sea ; 
Its  sleepy  and  wobbling  icebergs  crunch  as  they  go. 

'  This  is  a  face  of  bitter  herbs — this  an  emetic — they 

need  no  label : 
And  more  of  the  drug-shelf,  laudanum,  caoutchouc,  or 

hog's-lard. 

*  This  face  is  an  epilepsy,  its  v/ordless  tongue  gives  out 

the  unearthly  cry, 
Its  veins  down  the  neck  distend,  its  eyes  roll  till  they 

show  nothing  but  their  whites, 
Its  teeth  grit,  the  palms  of  the  hands  are  cut  by  the 

turn'd-in  nails. 
The  man  falls  struggling  and  foaming  to  the  ground 

while  he  speculates  well. 

'■'  This  face  is  bitten  by  vermin  and  worms, 
And  this  is  some  murderer's  knife,  with  a  half-pull'd 
scabbard. 

'°  This  face  owes  to  the  sexton  his  dismalest  fee ; 
An  unceasiuG'  deaih-bcll  tolls  there. 


I 


Leaves  of-Gkass.  301 

3 

"  Those  then  r.re  really  men — the  bosses  and  tufts  of 
the  great  round  globe ! 

'-  Features  of  my  equals,  would  you  trick  me  with  your 

(;reas'd  and  cadaverous  march  ? 
Well,  5^ou  cannot  trick  me. 

'"  I  see  your  rounded,  never-erased  flow  ; 
I  see  neath  the  rims  of  your  haggard  and  mean  dis- 
guises. 

"  Splay  and  twist  as  you  like — poke  with  the  tangling 

fores  of  fishes  or  rats  ; 
You'll  be  unmuzzled,  you  certainly  will. 

'°  I  saw  the  face  of  the  most  smear'd  and  slobbering 
idiot  they  had  at  the  asylum  ; 

And  I  knew  for  my  consolation  what  they  knew  not  ; 

I  knew  of  the  agents  that  emptied  and  broke  my 
brother. 

The  same  wait  to  clear  the  rubbish  from  the  fallen  ten- 
ement ; 

And  I  shall  look  again  in  a  score  or  two  of  ages. 

And  I  shall  meet  the  real  landlord,  perfect  and  un- 
harm'd,  every  inch  as  good  as  myself. 


'^  The  Lord  advances,  and  yet  advances  ; 
Always  the  shadow  in  front — always  the  reach'd  hand, 
bringing  up  the  laggards. 

"  Out  of  this  face  emerge  banners  and  horses — O  su- 
perb !     I  see  what  is  coming  ; 

I  see  the  high  pioneer-caps — I  see  the  staves  of  runners 
clearing  the  way, 

I  hear  victorious  drums. 


302  LejVves  of  Grass. 

'^  This  face  is  a  life-boat ; 

This  is  the  face  commanding  and  bearded,  it  aslss  no 

odds  of  the  rest ; 
This  face  is  flavor'd  fruit,  ready  for  eating  ; 
This  face  of  a  healthy  honest  boy  is  the  progi'amme  of 

all  good. 

'^  These  faces  bear  testimony,  slumbering  or  awake  ; 
They  show  their  descent  from  the  Master  himself. 

'"  Off  the  word  I  have  spoken  I  except  not  one — red, 
white,  black,  are  all  deific  ; 

In  each  house  is  the  ovum — it  comes  forth  after  a  thou- 
sand years. 

^'  Spots  or  cracks  at  the  windows  do  not  disturb  me  ; 
Tall  and  sufjicient  stand  behind,  and  make  signs  to  me; 
I  read  the  promise,  and  patiently  wait. 

^^  This  is  a  full-grown  lily's  face, 

She  speaks  to  the  limber-hipp'd  man  near  the  garden 

pickets, 
Come  here,  she  blushingly  cries — Come  nigh  la  me,  lim- 

her-hipjy'd  man, 
Sland  at  my  side  till  I  lean  as  high  as  I  can  upon  you, 
Fill  me  loiih  albescent  honey,  bend  down  to  me, 
Bub  to  me  ivith  your  chafing  beard,  rub  to  my  breast  and 

shoidders. 


'^  The  old  face  of  the  mother  of  many  children ! 
Whist!  I  am  fully  content. 

-*  Lull'd  and  late  is  the  smoke  of  the  First-day  morning. 
It  hangs  low  over  the  rows  of  trees  by  the  fences. 
It  hangs  thin  by  the  sassafras,  the  wild-cherr}^,  and  the 
cat-brier'under  them. 

-^  I  saw  the  rich  ladies  in  full  dress  at  the  soiree, 
I  heard  v/hat  the  singers  were  singing  so  long, 


Leaves  of  Geass.  3G3 

Heard  wlio   sprang  in  crimson  youtli  from  the  wliite 
froth  and  tlie  water-blue. 

-^  Bshold  a  woman ! 

She  looks  out  from  her  qualcer  cap — her  face  is  clearer 
and  more  beautiful  than  the  shy. 

•'  She  sits  in  an  arm-chau-,  under  the  shaded  porch  of 

the  farm-house, 
The  sun  just  shines  on  her  old  white  head. 

-^Iler  ample  gown  is  of  cream-hued  linen. 
Her  grandsons  raised  the  flax,   and  her  granddaugh- 
ters spun  it  with  the  distaii'  and  the  v/heeL 

''^  The  melodious  character  of  the  earth. 

The  finish  beyond  which  philosophy  cannot  go,  and 

does  not  v/ish  to  go, 
The  justified  mother  of  men. 


MANHATTAN'S    STREETS    I    SAUNTER'D, 
PONDERING. 


*  ]\Ianhattan's  streets  I  saunter'd,  pondering, 
On  time,  space,  reahty — on  such  as  these,  and  abreast 
Avith  them,  prudence. 


After  all,  the  last  explanation  remains  to  be  made 
aboTTt  prudence ; 
Little  and  large  ahke  drop  quietly  aside  from  the  pru- 
dence that  suits  immortality. 

'  The  Soul  is  of  itself  ; 

All  verges  to  it — all  has  reference  to  what  ensues  ; 

All  that  a  person  does,  says,  thinks,  is  of  consequence; 


304  Leaves  of  Geass. 

Not  a  move  can  a  man  or  woman  make,  that  affects 
bim  or  her  in  a  day,  month,  any  part  of  the 
chrect  hfe-time,  or  the  hour  of  death,  but  the 
same  affects  him  or  her  onward  afterward 
throuR-h  the  indirect  hfe-time. 


^  The  indirect  is  just  as  much  as  the  direct. 
The  spirit  receives  from  the  body  just  as  much  as  it 
gives  to  the  body,  if  not  more. 

Not  one  v;ord  or  deed — not  venereal  sore,  discolor- 
ation, privacy  of  the  onanist,  putridity  of  glut- 
tons or  rum-drinkers,  peculation,  cunning, 
betrayal,  murder,  seduction,  prostitution,  but 
has  results  beyond  death,  as  really  as  before 
death. 


*  Charity  and  personal  force  are  the  only  investments 
worth  anything. 

'  No  specification  is  necessary — all  that  a  male  or  fe- 
male does,  that  is  vigorous,  benevolent,  clean,  is 
so  much  profit  to  him  or  her,  in  the  unshak- 
able order  of  the  universe,  and  through  the  whole 
scope  of  it,  forever. 


^  Who  has  been  wise,  receives  interest, 
Savage,    felon.    President,    judge,    farmer,  sailor,   me- 
chanic, literat,  young,  old,  it  is  the  same, 
The  interest  will  come  round — all  will  come  round. 

'  Singly,  wholly,  to  affect  now,  affected  their  time,  will 
forever  affect,  all  of  the  past,  and  all  of  the 
present,  and  all  of  the  future. 

All  the  bravo  actions  of  war  and  peace. 


Leaves  of  Grass.  305 

All  help  given  to  relatives,  strangers,  the  poor,  old, 
sorrowfnl,  young  children,  widows,  the  sick,  and 
to  shunn'd  persons, 

All  furtherance  of  fugitives,  and  of  the  escape  of  slaves. 

All  self-denial  that  stood  steady  and  aloof  on  wrecks, 
and  saw  others  fill  the  seats  of  the  boats. 

All  offering  of  substance  or  life  for  the  g;ood  old  cause, 
or  for  a  friend's  sake,  or  opinion's  sake. 

All  pains  of  enthusiasts,  scoff'd  at  by  their  neighbors. 

All  the  limitless  sweet  love  and  precious  suffering  of 
mothers. 

All  honest  men  baffled  in  strifes  recorded  or  unre- 
corded, 

All  the  grandeur  ancl  good  of  ancient  nations  whose 
fragments  we  inherit. 

All  the  good  of  the  dozens  of  ancient  nations  un- 
known to  us  by  name,  date,  location. 

All  that  was  ever  manfully  begun,  whether  it  suc- 
ceeded or  no. 

All  suggestions  of  the  divine  mind  of  man,  or  the 
divinity  of  his  mouth,  or  the  shaping  of  his  great 
hands ; 

All  that  is  well  thought  or  said  this  day  on  any  part 
of  the  globe — or  on  any  of  the  wandering  stars, 
or  on  any  of  the  fix'd  stars,  by  those  there  as 
we  are  here  ; 

All  that  is  henceforth  to  be  thought  or  done  by  you, 
whoever  you  are,  or  by  any  one  ; 

These  inure,  have  iniu'ed,  shall  inure,  to  the  identities 
from  which  they  sprang,  or  shall  spring. 

6 

•'^  Did  you  guess  anything  lived  only  its  moment  ? 

The  world  does  not  so  exist — no  parts  palpable  or  im- 
palpable so  exist  ; 

No  consummation  exists  without  being  from  some 
long  previous  consummation — and  that  from 
some  other. 

Without  the  farthest  conceivable  one  coming  a  bit 
nearer  the  beginning  than  any. 


306  Leaves  of  Grass. 

7 

"  Whatever  satisfies  Souls  is  true  ; 

Prudence    entirely   satisfies   the   craving   and   glut   of 

Souls  ; 
Itself  only  finally  satisfies  the  Soul  ; 
The  Soul  has  that  measureless  pride  which  revolts  from 

every  lesson  but  its  own. 


'^  Now  I  give  you  an  inlding  ; 

Now  I  breathe  the  word  of  the  prudence  that  walks 

abreast  with  time,  space,  reality. 
That  answers  the  pride  wluch  refuses  every  lesson  but 

its  own. 

'■^  What  is  prudence,  is  indivisible. 

Declines  to  separate  one  part  of  life  from  every  part. 

Divides  not  the  righteous  from  the  uni-ighteous,  or  the 

living  from  the  dead. 
Matches  every  thought  or  act  by  its  correlative, 
Knows  no  possible  forgiveness,  or  deputed  atonement, 
Knows  that  the  young    man  who  composedly  peril'd 

his  life  and  lost  it,  has   done   exceedingly  well 

for  himself,  without  doubt, 
That  he  who  never  peril'd  his  life,  but  retains  it  to  old 

age  in  riches   and  ease,   has  probably  achiev'd 

nothing  for  himself  worth  mentioning  ; 
Knows  that  only  that   person  has  really  Icam'd,  who 

has  learn'd  to  prefer  results, 
Who  favors  Body  and  Soul  the  same. 
Who  perceives   the    indirect   assui'edly   following    the 

direct, 
Wlio  in  his  spirit  in  any  emergency  whatever  neither 

hurries  or  avoids  death. 


Leaves  of  Grass.  307 


All  is  Truth. 

'  0  ME,  man  of  slack  faith  so  long ! 
Standing  aloof — denying  portions  so  long  ; 
Only  aware  to-day  of  compact,  all-diffused  truth  ; 
Discovering  to-day  there  is  no  lie,  or  form  of  lie,  and 

can  be  none,  but  grov.'s  as  inevitably  upon  itself 

as  the  truth  does  upon  itself. 
Or  as  any  law  of  the  earth,  or  any  natural  production 

of  the  earth  does. 

•  (This  is  curious,  and  may  not  be  realized  immediately 

— But  it  must  be  realized  ; 
I  feel  in  myself  that  I  represent  falsehoods  equally  with 

the  rest. 
And  that  the  universe  does.) 

"  Where  has  faii'd  a  perfect  return,  indifferent  of  lies  or 

the  truth  ? 
Is  it  upon  the  ground,  or  in  water  or  fire  ?  or  in  the 

s^Dirit  of  man  ?  or  in  the  meat  and  blood  ? 

*  Meditating  among  liars,  and  retreating  sternly  into 

myself,  I  see  that  there  are  really  no  liars  or  lies 

after  all, 
And  that  nothing  fails  its  jieriect  return — And  that 

what  are  called  lies  are  perfect  returns, 
And  that  each  thing  esactly  represents  itself,  and  what 

has  preceded  it. 
And  that  the  truth  includes  all,  and  is  compact,  just  as 

much  as  space  is  compact, 
And  that  there  is  no  flaw  or  vacuum  in  the  amount  of 

the  truth — but  that  all  is  truth  without  excep- 
tion ; 
And  henceforth  I  will  go  celebrate  anything  I  see  or 

am. 
And  sing  and  laugh,  and  deny  nothing. 


308  Leaves  of  Geass. 


Voices. 

'  Now  I  make  a,  leaf  of  Voices — for  I  have  found  nothing 

mightier  than  they  are, 
And  I  have  found  that  no  word  spoken,  but  is  beautiful, 

in  its  place. 

^  O  what  is  it  in  me  that  makes  me  tremble  so  at  voices  ? 
Surely,  whoever  speaks  to  me  in  the  right  voice,  him  or 

her  I  shall  follow, 
As  the  water  folloNvs  the  moon,  silently,  with  fluid  steps, 

anywhere  around  the  globe. 

"  All  waits  for  the  right  voices  ; 

Where  is  the  practis'd  and  perfect  organ  ?     Where  is 

the  develop'd  Soul  ? 
For  I  see  every  word  utter'd  thence,  has  deeper,  sweeter, 

new  sounds,  impossible  on  less  terms. 

■*  I  see  brains  and  lij)s  closed — tympans  and  temples 

unstruck, 
Until  that  comes  which  has  the  quality  to  strike  and  to 

unclose. 
Until  that  comes  which  has  the  quality  to  bring  forth 

what  lies  slumbering,  forever  ready,  in  all  words. 


Leaves  of  Grass. 

Marches  now  the  War  is 
Over. 

As  I  SAT  Alone  by  Blue  Ontario's  Shore. 


'  As  I  a  sat  alone,  by  blue  Ontario's  sliore, 

As  I  mused  of  these  mighty  days,  and  of  peace  return'd, 

and  the  dead  that  return  no  more, 
A  Phantom,  gigantic,  superb,  with  stern  visage,  accosted 

me  ; 
Chant  me  the  poem,  it  said,  that  comes  from  the  soul  of 

America — chant  me  the  carol  of  victory ; 
And  strike  up  the  marches  of  Lihertad — marches  more 

powerful  yet ; 
And  sing  me  before  you  go,  the  song  of  the  throes  of 

Democracy. 

^  (Democracy — the  destin'd  conqueror — yet  treacherous 

lip-smiles  everywhere, 
And  Death  and  infidelity  at  every  step.) 


^  A  Nation  announcing  itself, 

I  myself  make  the  only  growth  by  which  I  can  be  ap- 
preciated, 

I  reject  none,  accept  all,  then  reproduce  all  in  my  own 
forms. 


310  Leaves  op  Gteass. 

^  A  breed  wliose  proof  is  in  time  and  deeds  ; 

What  we  are,  we  are — nativity  is  answer  enongli  to 

objections  ; 
We  wield  ourselves  as  a  weapon  is  wielded, 
We  are  powerfid  and  tremendous  in  ourselves. 
We  are  executive  in  ourselves — We  are  sufficient  in  the 

variety  of  ourselves. 
We  are  the  most  beautiful  to  ourselves,  and  in  ourselves  ; 
We  stand  self-pois'd  in  the  middle,  branching  thence 

over  the  world  ; 
From  Missouri,  Nebraska,  or  Kansas,  laughing  attacks 

to  scorn. 

*  Nothing  is  sinful  to  us  outside  of  ourselves, 
Whatever  appears,  whatever  does  not  appear,  we  are 
beautiful  or  sinful  in  ourselves  only. 

^  (O  mother  !  O  sisters  dear  ! 

If  we  are  lost,  no  victor  else  has  destroy'd  us  ; 

It  is  by  ourselves  we  go  down  to  eternal  night.) 


'  Have    you    thought    there    could    be   but   a  single 

Supreme  ? 
There**'can  be  any  number  of  Supremes — One  does  not 

countervail  another,  any  more  than  one  eyesight 

countervails    another,   or   one   life    countervails 

another. 

^  All  is  eligible  to  all. 

All  is  for  individuals — iVll  is  for  you. 

No  condition  is  prohibited — not  God's,  or  any. 

'  All  comes  by  the  body — only  health  puts  you  rapport 
with  the  universe. 

"•  Produce  great  joersons,  the  rest  follows. 


Marches  noay  the  War  is  Over.  311 


"  America  isolated  I  sing  ; 

I  say  that  works  made  here  in  the  spirit  of  other  lands, 
are  so  much  poison  in  The  States. 

"  (How  dare  such  insects  as  wo  see  assume  to  write 

poems  for  America  ? 
For  our  victorious  armies,  and  the  offspring  follovv^ing 

the  armies  ?) 

'^  Piety  and  conformity  to  them  that  like  . 
Peace,  obesity,  allegiance,  to  them  that  like  ! 
I  am  he  who  tauntingly  compels  men,  women,  nations. 
Crying,  Leap  from  your  seats,  and  contend  for  your 
lives ! 

"  I  am  he  who  walks  the  States  with  a  barb'd  tongue, 

questioning  every  one  I  meet ; 
Who  are  you,  that  wanted  only  to  be  told  what  you 

knew  before  ? 
Who  are  you,  that  wanted  only  a  book  to  join  you  in 

your  nonsense  ? 

'^  (With  pangs  and  cries,  as  thine  own,  O  bearer  of 

many  children  ! 
These  clamors  wild,  to  a  race  of  pride  I  give.) 

'^  O  lands !  would  you  be  freer  than  all  that  has  ever 

been  before  ? 
If  you  would  be  freer  than  all  that  has  been  before, 

come  listen  to  me.  » 


"  Fear  grace — Fear  elegance,  civilization,  clelicatesse, 
Fear  the  mellow  sweet,  the  sucking  of  honey-juice  ; 
Beware  the  advancing  mortal  ripening  of  nature, 
Beware  what  precedes  the  decay  of  the  ruggedness  of 
states  and  men. 


312  Leaves  of  Grass. 

5 

'^  Ages,  precedents,  havo  long  been  accumulating  undi- 
rected materials, 
America  brings  builders,  and  brings  its  own  styles. 

'"  The  immortal  jjoets  of  Asia  and  Europe  Lave  done 
their  work,  and  pass'd  to  other  spheres, 

A  work  remains,  the  work  of  surpassing  all  they  have 
done. 

^"  America,  curious  toward  foreign  characters,  stands 
by  its  own  at  all  hazards. 

Stands  removed,  spacious,  composite,  sound — -initiates 
the  true  use  of  precedents, 

Does  not  repel  them,  or  the  past,  or  what  they  have 
produced  under  their  forms. 

Takes  the  lesson  with  calmness,  perceives  the  corpse 
slowly  borne  from  the  house, 

Perceives  that  it  waits  a  little  while  in  the  door — that 
it  was  fittest  for  its  days. 

That  its  life  has  descended  to  the  stalwart  and  well- 
shaped  heir  who  approaches, 

And  that  he  shall  be  fittest  for  his  days. 

^'  Any  period,  one  nation  must  lead. 
One  land   must  be  the  promise  and  reliance  of  the 
future. 

-^  These  States  are  the  amplest  poem, 

Here  is  not  merely  a  nation,  but  a  teeming  nation  of 

nations. 
Here  the  doings  of   men  correspond  with  the  broadcast 

doings  of  the  day  and  night. 
Here  is  what  moves  in  magnificent  masses,  careless  of 

particulars. 
Here  are  the  roughs,  beards,  friendliness,  combative- 

ness,  the  Soul  loves, 
Here  the  flowing  trains — here   the   crowds,    equality, 

diversity,  the  Soul  loves. 


d 


Marches  now  the  War  is  Over.  313 

G 

'^  Land  of  lauds,  and  bards  to  corroborate  ! 

Of  them,  standing  among  them,  one  Hfts  to  the  Hght  his 
Vvest-bred  face. 

To  him  the  hereditary  countenance  beqncath'd,  both 
mother's  and  father's, 

His  first  parts  substances,  earth,  -water,  animals,  trees. 

Built  of  the  common  stock,  having  room  for  far  and 
near, 

Used  to  dispense  with  other  lands,  incarnating  this 
land, 

Attracting  it  Body  and  Soul  to  himself,  hanging  on  its 
neclf  with  incomparable  love. 

Plunging  his  seminal  muscle  into  its  merits  and  de- 
merits. 

Making  its  cities,  beginnings,  events,  diversities,  wars, 
vocal  in  him. 

Making  its  rivers,  lakes,  bays,  embouchure  in  him, 

Mississippi  with  yearly  freshets  and  changing  chutes — 
Columbia,  Niagara,  Hudson,  spending  them- 
selves lovingly  in  him. 

If  the  Atlantic  coast  stretch,  or  the  Pacific  coast  stretch, 
he  stretching  with  them  north  or  south, 

Sxoanning  between  them,  east  and  west,  and  touching 
whatever  is  between  them, 

Growths  growing  from  him  to  offset  the  growth  of 
pine,  cedar,  hemlock,  live-oak,  locust,  chestnut, 
hickory,  cotton-wood,  orange,  magnolia. 

Tangles  as  tangled  in  him  as  any  cane-brake  or  swamp. 

He  likening  sides  and  peaks  of  mountains,  forests 
coated  with  northern  transparent  ice, 

Off  him  pasturage  sweet  and  natural  as  savanna,  up- 
land, prairie. 

Through  him  flights,  whirls,  screams,  answering  those 
of  the  fish-hawk,  mocking-bird,  night-heron,  and 
eagle  ; 

His  spu'it  surrounding  his  country's  spirit,  unclosed  to 
good  and  evil. 

Surrounding  the  essences  of  real  things,  old  times  and 
present  times, 
14 


oi4  Leavks  of  Grass. 

Surrounding  jusb  foiind  shores,  islands,  triljCJ  of"  red 
aborigiuej, 

Weatlier-beaten  vessais,  landings,  setllenisnts,  embryo 
stature  and  muscle, 

The  haught}'  defiance  of  the  Year  1 — war,  peace,  the 
formation  of  the  Constitution, 

The  separate  States,  tlie  simple,  elastic  scheme,  the  im- 
migrants, 

The  Union,  alwa^ys  sv,'arming  with  blathcrers,  and 
always  sure  and  impregnable. 

The  unsurvey'd  interior,  log-houses,  clearings,  wild 
auimals,  hunters,  trappers  ; 

Surrounding  the  multiform  agriculture,  mines,  tem- 
perature, the  gestation  of  new  States, 

Congress  convening  every  Twelfth-month,  the  mem- 
bers duly  coming  up  from  the  uttermost  parts  ; 

Surrounding  the  noble  character  of  mechanics  and 
farmers,  especially  the  young  men, 

Ecsponding  their  manners,  speech,  dress,  friendships — 
the  gait  they  have  of  persons  who  never  knew 
how  it  felt  to  stand  in  the  presence  of  superiors. 

The  freshness  and  candor  of  their  physiognomy,  the 
copiousness  and  decision  of  their  phrenology, 

TIio  picturesque  looseness  of  their  carriage,  their  fierce- 
ness when  wrong'd, 

The  fluency  of  their  speech,  their  delight  in  music,  their 
curiosity,  good  temper,  and  open-handcdness — 
the  whole  composite  make. 

The  prevailing  ardor  and  enterprise,  the  large  amative- 
ness, 

The  perfect  equality  of  the  female  with  the  male,  the 
fluid  movement  of  the  population, 

The  superior  marine,  free  commerce,  fisheries,  whaling, 
gold-digging. 

Wharf -heram'd  cities,  railroad  and  steamboat  lines,  in- 
tersecting all  points, 

Factories,  mercantile  life,  labor-saving  machinery,  the 
north-east,  north-west,  south-west, 

Manhattan  firemen,  the  Yankee  swap,  southern  jolanta- 
tion  life, 


IVIakches  NOV/  Tnr;  Wak  13  Ovee.  315 

Slavery — tlie  murderous,  treaclierous  conspiracy  to  raise 

it  upon  the  ruins  of  all  the  rest ; 
On  and.  on  to  the  grapple  with  it — Assassin !  then  your 

life  or  GUI'S  be  the  stake — and  respite  no  more. 


"  (Lo  !  high  toward  heaven,  this  day, 

Libertad  !  from  the  conqueress'  field  return'd, 

I  mark  the  new  aureola  around  yoiu"  head  ; 

No  more  of  soft  astral,  but  dazzling  and  fierce, 

Y/ith  war's  flames,  and  the  lambent  lightnings  playing. 

And  your  port  immovable  where  you  stand  ; 

With  still  the  inextinguishable  glance,  and  the  clench'd 

and  hfted  fist. 
And  your  foot  on  the  neck  of  the  menacing  one,  the 

scorner,  utterly  crush'd  beneath  you  ; 
The  menacing,  arrogant  one,  that  strode  and  advanced 

with  his  senseless  ccorn,  bearing  the  murderous 

knife  ; 
— Lo  !  the  wide  swelling  one,  the  braggart,  that  would 

yesterday  do  so  much  ! 
To-day  a  carrion  dead  and  damn'd,  the  despised  of  all 

the  earth ! 
An  offal  rank,  to  the  dunghill  maggots  spurn'd.) 


■°  Others  take  finish,  but  the  Republic  is  ever  construc- 
tive, and  ever  keeps  vista  ; 

Others  adorn  the  past — but  you,  O  days  of  the  present, 
I  adorn  you ! 

O  days  of  the  futui'e,  I  believe  in  you  !  I  isolate  myself 
for  your  sake  ; 

O  America,  because  you  build  for  mankind,  I  build  for 
you ! 

0  well-beloved  stone-cutters !  I  lead  them  who  plan  with 

decision  and  science, 

1  lead  the  present  with  fi-iendly  hand  toward  the  fu- 

ture. 


316  Leaves  of  Grass. 

^^  Bravas  to  all  impulses  sending  sane  cliilclren  to  tt 
next  age  ! 

Bat  damn  that  which  spends  itself,  with  no  thought  of 
the  stain,  pains,  dismay,  feebleness,  it  is  be- 
queathing. 

9 

^^  I  listened  to  the  Phantom  by  Ontario's  shore, 

I  heard  the  voice  arising,  demanding  bards  ; 

By  them,  all  native  and  grand — by  them  alone  can  The 

States  be  fused  into  the  compact  organism  of  a 

Nation. 

28  ijiq  iiold  men  together  by  paper  and  seal,  or  by  com- 
pulsion, is  no  account ; 

That  only  holds  men  together  which  aggregates  all  in 
a  living  principle,  as  the  hold  of  the  limbs  of  the 
body,  or  the  fibres  of  plants. 

-"  Of  all  races  and  eras,  These  States,  with  veins  full  of 
poetical  stuff,  most  need  poets,  and  are  to  have 
the  greatest,  and  use  them  the  greatest ; 

Their  Presidents  shall  not  be  their  common  referee  so 
much  as  their  poets  shall. 

^^  (Soul  of  love,  and  tongue  of  fire ! 
Eye  to  pierce  the  deepest  deej)s,  and  sweep  the  world ! 
— Ah,  mother  !  prolific  and  full  in  all  besides — yet  how 
long  barren,  barren  ?) 

10 

"'  Of  These  States,  the  poet  is  the  equable  man. 

Not  in  him,  but  off'  fi"om  him,  things  are  grotesque, 

eccentric,  fail  of  their  full  returns. 
Nothing  out  of  its  place  is  good,  nothing  in  its  place  is 

bad. 
He  bestows  on  every  object  or  quahty  its  fit  proportion, 

neither  more  nor  less, 
He  is  the  arbiter  of  the  diverse,  he  is  the  key. 
He  is  the  equalizer  of  his  age  and  land. 


Makches  now  the  War  is  Over.  317 

He  supplies  wliat  ^vants  supplying — he  clicclzs  what 
wants  checking, 

lu  peace,  out  of  him  speaks  the  spuifc  of  peace,  large, 
rich,  thrifty,  building  populous  towns,  encour- 
aging agriculture,  arts,  commerce,  lighting  the 
study  of  man,  the  Soul,  health,  immortality,  gov- 
ernment ; 

In  war,  he  is  the  best  backer  of  the  war — he  fetches 
artillery  as  good  as  the  engineer's — he  can  make 
every  word  ho  speaks  draw  blood  ; 

The  years  straying  toward  infidelity,  he  withholds  by 
his  steady  faith. 

He  is  no  arguer,  he  is  judgment — (Nature  pxcepts  him 
absolutely  ;) 

He  judges  not  as  the  judge  judges,  but  as  the  sun  fall- 
ing round  a  helpless  thing  ; 

As  he  sees  the  farthest,  he  has  the  most  faith. 

His  thoughts  are  the  hymns  of  the  praise  of  things, 

In  the  dispute  on  Grod  and  eternity  he  is  silent. 

He  sees  eternity  less  like  a  play  with  a  prologue  and 
denouement, 

He  sees  eternity  in  men  and  women — he  does  not  see 
men  and  women  as  dreams  or  dots. 

*  S2  ji^jj,  ^|jg  gi'eat  Idea,  the  idea  of  perfect  and  free  indi- 
viduals. 

For  that  idea,  the  bard  v/alks  in  advance,  leader  of 
leaders, 

The  attitude  of  him  cheers  up  slaves,  and  horrifies 
foreign  despots. 

^^  Without  extinction  is  Liberty !  without  retrograde  is 

Equality ! 
They  live  in  the  feelings  of  young  men,  and  the  best 

women  ; 
Not  for  nothing  have  the  indomitable  heads  of  the  earth 

been  always  ready  to  fall  for  Liberty. 

11 

•'^  For  the  gi-eat  Idea  ! 

That,  O  my  brethren — that  is  the  mission  of  Poets. 


318 


Leaves  of  Grass 


^^  Songs  of  stern  defiance,  ever  ready, 

Songs  of  the  rapid  arming,  and  the  march, 

The  flag  of  peace  quick-folded,  and  instead,  the  fiag  we 

know, 
Warlike  flag  of  the  great  Idea. 

^^  (Angry  cloth  I  saw  tiiere  leaping  ! 

I  stand  again  in  leaden  rain,  yonr  flapping  folds  saluting; 

I  sing  you  over  all,  flj'ing,  beckoning  through  the  fight 

— O  the  hard-contested  fight ! 
O  the  cannons  ope  their  rosy-flashing  muzzles !    the 

hurtled  balls  scream  ! 
The  battle-front  forms   amid   the  smoke — the  volleys 

pour  incessant  from  the  line  ; 
Hark  !  the  ringing  word,  Charge  ! — now  the  tussle,  and 

the  furious  maddening  yells  ; 
Now  the  corpses  tumble  curl'd  upon  the  ground, 
Cold,  cold  in  death,  for  precious  life  of  you, 
Angry  cloth  I  saw  thero  leaj^ing.) 

12 

^"^  Are  you  he  who  would  assume  a  place  to  teach,  or  be 

a  poet  here  in  The  States  ? 
The  place  is  august — the  terms  obdurate. 

^^  Who  would  assume  to  teach  hero,  may  well  prepare 

himself,  body  and  mind. 
He  may  well  survey,  ponder,  arm,  fortify,  harden,  make 

lithe,  himself. 
He  shall  surely  be  question'd  beforehand  by  me  with 

many  and  stern  questions. 


^^  Who  are  you,  indeed,  who  would  talk  or  sing  to 
America  ? 

Have  you  studied  out  the  land,  its  idioms  and  men  ? 

Have  you  learn'd  the  physiology,  phrenology,  politics, 
geography,  pride,  freedom,  friendship,  of  the 
land  ?  its  aubstratiims  and  obiects  ? 


MaPX'HES   I;0VV   THE    WaE    IS    OvEP.,  319 

Have  you  consicler'd  the  organic  compact  of  the  first 
day  of  the  first  year  of  Independence,  sign'd  by 
the  Cornniissioners,  ratified  by  The  States,  and 
read  by  Washington  at  the  head  of  the  army  ? 

Have  you  possess'd  yourself  of  the  Federal  Constitution  ? 

Do  you  see  who  have  left  all  feudal  processes  and  poems 
behind  them,  and  assumed  the  poems  and  pro- 
cesses of '  Democracy  ? 

Are  you  faithful  to  things  ?  do  you  teach  as  the  land 
and  sea,  the  bodies  of  men,  womanhood,  ama- 
tiveness,  angers,  teach  ? 

Have  you  sped  through  fleeting  customs,  popnlarities  ? 

Can  you  hold  your  hand  against  all  seductions,  follies, 
whirls,  fierce  contentions  ?  are  you  very  strong  ? 
are  you  really  of  the  v/hole  people  ? 

Are  you  not  of  some  coterie  ?  some  school  or  mere 
religion  ? 

Are  yoa  done  with  reviews  and  criticisms  of  life  ?  ani- 
mating now  to  life  itself  ? 

Have  you  vivified  yourself  from  the  maternity  of  These 
States  ? 

Have  you  too  the  old,  ever-fresh,  forbearance  and  im- 
]3artiality  ? 

Do  you  hold  the  like  love  for  those  hardening  to  ma- 
turity ;  for  the  last-born  ?  little  and  big  ?  and 
for  the  errant  ? 

■^^  What  is  this  you  bring  my  America  ? 

Is  it  uniform  with  my  country? 

Is  it  not  sometiiiiig  that  has  been  better  told  or  done 
before  ? 

Have  you  not  imported  this,  or  the  spirit  of  it,  in  some 
ship?   . 

Is  it  not  a  mere  tale  ?  a  rhyme  ?  a  prettiness  ?  is  the 
good  old  cause  in  it  ? 

Has  it  not  dangled  long  at  the  heels  of  tlie  poets,  poli- 
ticians, literats,  of  enemies'  lands  ? 

Docs  it  not  assume  that  v/hat  is  notoriously  gone  is  still 
here  ? 

Does  it  answer  universal  needs  ?  vrill  it  improve  man- 
ners ? 


320  Leaves  of  Geass. 

Does  it  sotincl,  with  trumpet-voice,  the  proud  victory  of 
the  Union,  in  that  secession  war  ? 

Can  your  performance  face  the  open  fields  and  the  sea- 
side ? 

Will  it  absorb  into  me  as  I  absorb  food,  air — to  appear 
again  in  my  strength,  gait,  face  ? 

Have  real  employments  contributed  to  it  ?  original 
makers — not  mere  amanuenses  ? 

Does  it  meet  modern  discoveries,  cahbers,  facts,  face  to 
face  ? 

What  docs  it  mean  to  me  ?  to  American  persons,  pro- 
gresses, cities  ?  Chicago,  Kanada,  Arkansas  ?  the 
jDlanter,  Yankee,  Georgian,  native,  immigi'ant, 
sailors,  squatters,  old  States,  new  States  ? 

Does  it  encompass  all  The  States,  and  the  unexcep- 
tional rights  of  all  the  men  and  women  of  the 
earth  ?  (the  genital  impulse  of  These  States  ;) 

Does  it  see  behind  the  apparent  custodians,  the  real 
custodians,  standing,  menacing,  silent — the  me- 
cha'mcs,Manhattanese,  western  men,  southerners, 
significant  alike  in  their  apathy,  and  in  tLe 
promptness  of  their  love  ? 

Does  it  see  Vv^hat  finally  befalls,  and  has  always  finally 
befallen,  each  temporizer,  patcher,  outsider,  par- 
tialist,  alarmist,  infidel,  who  has  ever  ask'd  anj- 
thing  of  America? 

What  mocking  and  scornful  negligence  ? 

The  track  strew'd  with  the  dust  of  skeletons  ; 

By  the  roadside  others  disdainfully  toss'd. 


^'  Rhymes   and    rhymers   pass   away— poems   distill'd 

from  foreign  poems  pass  awaj', 
The  swarms  of  reflectors  and  the  polite  pass,  and  leave 

ashes  ; 
Admirers,   importers,  obedient  persons,  make  but  tbc 

soil  of  literature  ; 
America  justifies  itself,  give  it  time — no  disguise  can 

deceive   it,  or   conceal  fi'om  it — it  is  impassive 

ciiouii'L, 


J 


M.ir.CHES    NOW    THE    WaU   IS    OVEU.  321 

Only  toward  the  likes  of  itself  will  it  advance  to  meet 

them, 
If  its  poets  appear,  it  will  in  due  time  advance  to  meet 

them — there  is  no  fear  of  mistake, 
(The  proof  of  a  poet  shall  be  sternly  deferr'd,  till  his 

country  absorbs  him  as  affectionately  as  he  has 

absorb'd  it.) 

^'  He  masters  whose  spirit  masters — he  tastes  sweetest 
v\^ho  results  sweetest  in  the  long  run  ; 

The  blood  of  the  brawn  beloved  of  time  isunconstraint; 

In  the  need  of  poems,  philosophy,  jDolitics,  manners, 
engineering,  an  appropriate  native  grand-opera, 
shipcraft,  any  craft,  he  or  she  is  greatest  who 
contributes  the  greatest  original  practical  ex- 
ample. 

■•^  Already  a  nonchalant  breed,  silently  emerging,  ap- 
pears on  the  streets. 

People's  lips  salute. only  doers,  lovers,  satisfiers,  positive 
knowers  ; 

There  will  shortly  be  no  more  priests — I  say  their  work 
is  done, 

Death  is  without  emergencies  here,  but  life  is  perpet- 
ual emergencies  here, 

Ai"e  your  bodj',  days,  manners,  superb?  after  death 
you  shall  be  superb  ; 

Justice,  health,  self-esteem,  clear  the  way  with  irresist- 
ible power  ; 

How  dare  you  place  anything  before  a  man  ? 

U 

•"  Fall  behind  me,  States  ! 

A  man  before  all — myself,  typical,  before  all. 

"^  Give  me  the  pay  I  have  served  for ! 

Give  me  to  sing  the  song  of  the  great  Idea !  take  all 

the  rest ; 
I  have  loved  the  earth,  sun,  animals — I  have  despised 

riches. 


322  Leaves  of  GkxVss. 

I  liave  given  alms  to  every  one  tliat  ask'd,  stood  up  for 

tli(3  stupid  and  crazy,  devoted  my  income  and 

labor  to  others, 
I  have  hated  tyrants,  argued  not  concerning  God,  had 

patience    and    indulgence    toward   the    people, 

taken  off  my  hat  to  nothing  known  or  unknown, 
I  have  gone  freely  with  powerful  uneducated  persons, 

and  with  the  young,   and  with  the  mothers  of 

families, 
I  have  read  these  leaves  to  myself  in  the  open  air — I 

have  tried  them  by  trees,  stars,  rivers, 
I   have  dismiss'd  whatever   insulted   my  own  Soul  or 

defiled  my  Body, 
I  have   clairn'd  nothing  to  myself   which  I   have  not 

carefully  claiia'd  for  others  on  the  same  terms, 
I  have  sped  to  the  camps,  and  comrades  found  and 

accepted  from  every  State  ; 
(In  war  of  you,  as  well  as  peace,  my  suit  is  good,  Amer- 
ica— sadly  I  boast ; 
Upon  this  breast  has  many  a  dying  soldier  lean'd,  to 

breathe  his  last  ; 
This  arm,  this  hand,  this  voice,  have  noimsh'd,  rais'd, 

restored. 
To  life  recalling  many  a  prostrate  form  :) 
— I  am  v/illing  to  wait  to  be  understood  by  the  growth 

of  the  taste  of  myself, 
I  reject  none,  I  permit  all. 

^'  (Say,  O  mother!  have  I  not  to  your  thought  been 

faithful  ? 
Have  I  not,  through  life,  kept  you  and  yours  before 

me  ?) 

15 

'"  I  swear  I  begin  to  see  the  meaning  of  these  things ! 
It  is  not  the  earth,  it  is  not  America,  who  is  so  great. 
It  is  I  who  am  great,  or  to  be  great — it  is  you  up  there, 

or  any  one  ; 
It  is  to  vralk  rapidly  through  civihzations,  governments, 

theories, 


i 


Marches  kov/  the  YiAn  is  Ov£h.  323 

Tlirougli  poems,  pageants,  sliows,  to  form  great  indi- 
viduals. 

'^  Underaeatli  all,  individuals! 

I  swear  nothing  is  good  to  ine  now  tliat  ignores  indi- 

\aduals. 
The  American  compact  is  altogether  with   individuals, 
The  only  government  is  that  Vv^hich    makes  minute  of 

individuals. 
The  whole  theory  of  the  universe  is  directed  to    one 

single  individual — namely,  to  You. 

'-^  (Mother !  with  subtle  sense  severe — with  the  naked 
sw'ord  iu  your  hand, 

I  saw  3*ou  at  last  refuse  to  treat  hut  directly  with  indi- 
viduals.) 

IG 

^°  Underneath  all,  nativity, 

I  swear  I  will  stand  by  my  ovrn  nativity — pious  or  im- 
pious, so  be  it ; 

I  swear  I  am  cliarm'd  wdth  nothing  except  nativity, 

Men,  women,  cities,  nations,  arc  only  beautiful  from 
nativity. 

"  Underneath  all  is  the  need  of  the  expression  of  love 

for  men  and  women, 
I  swear  I  have  seen  enough  of  mean  and  impotent 

modes  of  expressing  love  for  men  and  women, 
After  this  day  I  take  my  own  modes  of  expressing  love 

for  men  and.  women. 

"-  I  svrear  I  will  have  each  quality  of  my  race  in  my- 
self, 

(Talk  as  you  Hke,  he  only  suits  These  States  whose 
manners  favor  the  audacity  and  sublime  turbu- 
lence of  The  States.) 

^■^  Underneath  the  lessons  of  things,  spirits.  Nature, 
governments,  ovvnerships,  I  swear  I  perceive 
other  lessons. 


324  Leaves  of  Geass. 

Underneatli  all,  to  me  is  myself — to  you,  yourself — (the 
same  monotonous  old  song.) 

17 

'^'0  1  see  now,  flashing,  that  this  America  is  only  you 
and  me, 

Its  power,  weapons,  testimony,  are  you  and  me, 

Ics  crimes,  lies,  thefts,  defections,  slavery,  are  you  and 
me. 

Its  Congress  is  you  and  me — the  officers,  capitols,  ar- 
mies, ships,  are  you  and  me. 

Its  endless  gestations  of  new  States  are  you  and  me, 

Tiie  war — that  war  so  bloody  and  grim — the  war  I  will 
henceforth  forget — was  you  and  me, 

Natural  and  artificial  are  you  and  me. 

Freedom,  language,  poems,  employments,  are  you  and 
me. 

Past,  present,  future,  arc  you  and  mo. 

18 

°°  I  swear  I  dare  not  shirk  any  part  of  myself. 

Not  any  part  of  America,  good  or  bad. 

Not  the  promulgation  of  Liberty — not  to  cheer  up  slaves 

and  horrify  foreign  despots, 
Not  to  build  for  that  which  builds  for  mankind. 
Not   to   balance   ranks,   complexions,   creeds,  and   the 

sexes, 
Not  to  justify  science,  nor  the  march  of  equality. 
Nor  to  feed  the  arrogant  blood  of  the  brawn  beloved 

of  time. 

^^  I  swear  I  am  for  those  that  have  never  been  mas- 

ter'd ! 
For  men  and  women  whose  tempers  have  never  been 

master'd. 
For  those  whom  laws,  theories,  conventions,  can  never 

master. 


Marches  now  the  War  is  Ovee.  325 

^^  I  swear  I  am  for  those  wlio  Vsalt  abreast  with  the 

whole  earth ! 
Who  inaugurate  one,  to  inaugurate  all. 

^^  I  swear  I  will  not  be  outfaced  by  iiTational  things  ! 
I  will  penetrate  what  it  is  in  them  that  is  sarcastic  upon 

nie  ! 
I  will  make  cities  and  civilizations  defer  to  me  ! 
This  is  what  I  have  learnt   from  America — it  is  the 

amount — and  it  I  teach  again. 

^*  (Democracy !  Avhile  weapons  were  everywhere  aim'd 

at  your  breast, 
I  saw  you  serenely  give  birth  to  immortal  children — 

saw  in  dreams  your  dilating  form  ; 
Saw  you  with  spreading  mantle  covering  the  world.) 

19 

®'^  I  will  confront  these  shows  af  the  day  and  night ! 

I  will  know  if  I  am  to  be  less  than  they! 

I  will  see  if  I  am  not  as  majestic  as  they ! 

I  will  see  if  I  am  not  as  subtle  and  real  as  they ! 

I  will  see  if  I  am  to  be  less  generous  than  they ! 

'^'  I  will  see  if  I  have  no  meaning,  while  the  houses  and 
ships  have  meaning ! 

I  will  see  if  the  fishes  and  birds  are  to  be  enough  for 
themselves,  and  I  am  not  to  be  enough  for  my- 
self. 

20 

^'  I  match  my  spirit  against  yours,  you  orbs,  growths, 
mountains,  brutes. 

Copious  as  you  are,  I  absorb  you  all  in  myself,  and  be- 
come the  master  myself. 

*^  America  isolated,  yet  embodying  all,  what  is  it  finally 

except  myself  ? 
These  States — what  arc  they  except  myself  ? 


326  Leaves  of  Geas3. 

"  I  kuo-^y  now   wliy  the   earth   is  gross,  tantalizing, 

wicked — it  is  for  my  sake, 
I  take  you  to  be  mine,  you  beautiful,  terrible,  rude 

forms. 

*^^  (Mother  !  bend  down,  bend  close  to  me  your  face ! 
I  know  not  what  these  plots  and  wars,  and  deferments 

are  for  ; 
I  know  not  fruition's  success — but  I  know  that  through 

war  and  peace  your  vfork  goes  on,  and  must  yet 

go  on.) 

21 

^® Thus,  by  blue  Ontario's  shore. 

While  the  winds  fann'd  me,  and  the  waves  came  troop- 
ing toward  me, 

I  thrill'd  with  the  Power's  pulsations — and  the  charm 
of  my  theme  was  upon  me, 

Till  the  tissues  that  held  me,  parted  their  tics  upon 
me. 

^''  And  I  saw  the  free  Souls  of  poets  ; 
The  loftiest  bards  of  past  ages  strode  before  me, 
Strange,  large  men,  long  unwaked,  undisclosed,  v.'ero 
disclosed  to  me. 

22 

^^  O  my  rapt  verse,  my  call — mock  me  not ! 

Not  for  the  bards  of  the  past — not  to  invoke  them  have 

I  laimch'd  you  forth, 
Not  to  call  even  those  lofty  bards  here  by  Ontario's 

shores, 
Have  I  sung,  so  capricious  and  loud,  my  savage  song. 

^'  Bards  for  my  own  land,  onlj^  I  invoke  ; 

(For  the  Vv'ar,  the  war  is  over — the  field  is  clear'd.) 

Till  they  strike  up  marches  henceforth  triumphant  and 

onward, 
To  chcsr,  O  mother,  your  boundless,  expectant  soul. 


Maechks  kow  the  Y/ae  is  Ovek.  327 

™  Bards  grand  as  these  days  so  gi-and ! 

Bards  of  the  great  Idea !  Bards  of  the  peaceful  inven- 
tions !   (for  the  wax-,  the  war  is  over  !) 

Yet  Bards  of  the  latent  armies — a  miiHon  soldiers  wait- 
ing ever-ready, 

Bards  towering  like  hills — (no  more  these  dots,  these 
pigmies,  these  little  piping  straws,  these  gnats, 
that  fill- the  hour,  to  pass  for  poets  ;) 

Bards  with  songs  as  from  bui'ning  coals,  or  the  light- 
ning's fork'd  stripes ! 

Ample  Ohio's  bards — bards  for  California!  inland 
bards — bards  of  the  war  ; 

(As  a  wheel  turns  on  its  axle,  so  I  find  my  chants  turn- 
ing finally  on  the  war  ;) 

Bards  of  pride !  Bards  tallying  the  ocean's  roar,  and 
the  swooping  eagle's  scream  ! 

You,  by  my  charm,  I  invoke  ! 


Pioneers  !    O   Pioneers  ! 


Come,  my  tan-faced  children, 
Follow  well  in  order,  get  yoiu-  weapons  ready  ; 
Have  you  your  pistols  ?   have  you  your  sharp  edged 
axes  ? 

Pioneers  !  O  pioneers  ! 


For  we  cannot  tarry  here, 
"We  must  march  my  darhngs,  we  must  bear  the  brunt 

of  danger. 
We,  the  youbhfu!  sioewy  races,  all  the  rest  on  us  depend, 
Pioneers  !  0  pioneers  ! 


328  Leaves  op  Geass. 


O  you  youths,  western  youths, 
So  impatient,  full  of  action,  full  of  manly  pride  and 

friendship, 
Plain  I  see  you,  western  youths,  see  you  tramping  with 
the  foremost, 

Pioneers  !  O  pioneers ! 


Have  the  elder  races  halted  ? 
Do  they  droop  and  end  their  lesson,  wearied,  over  there 

beyond  the  seas  ? 
We  take  up  the  tasli  eternal,  and  the  burden,  and  the 
lesson, 

Pioneers  !  O  pioneers  ! 


All  the  past  we  leave  behind  ; 
We   debouch   upon   a  newer,   mightier  world,  varied 

world  ; 
Fresh  and  strong  the  world  we  seize,  world  of  labor  and 
the  march. 

Pioneers  !  O  pioneers ! 


We  detachments  steady  throwing, 
Down  the  edges,  through  the  passes,  up  the  mountains 

steep. 
Conquering,  holding,  daring,  venturing,  as  we  go,  the 
unknown  ways. 

Pioneers  !  O  pioneers  ! 


We  primeval  forests  felling. 
Wo  the  rivers  stemming,  vexing  we,  and  piercing  deep 

the  mines  within  ; 
We  the  surface  broad  surveying,  we  the  virgin  soil  up- 
heaving. 

Pioneers  !  0  pioneers ! 


Marches  now  the  War  is  Ovee.  323 


Colorado  men  are  we, 
From  the  peaks  gig-antic,  from  tlie  great  sierras  and  the 

high  plateaus, 
From  the  mine  and  from  the  gully,  from  the  hunting 
trail  we  come, 

Pioneers  !  O  pioneers ! 


From  Nebraska,  from  Arkansas, 
Central  inland  race  are  we,  from  Missouri,  with  the 

continental  blood  intervein'd  ; 
All  the  hands  of  comrades  clasping,  all  the  Southern, 
all  the  Northern, 

Pioneers  !  O  pioneers  ! 


O  resistless,  restless  race  ! 
O  beloved  race  in  all !    O  my  breast  aches  with  tender 

love  for  all ! 
0  I  mourn  and  yet  exult — I  am  rapt  with  love  for  all, 
Pioneers  !  O  pioneers  ! 


Eaise  the  mighty  mother  mistress. 
Waving  high  the  delicate  mistress,  over  all  the  starry 

mistress,  (bend  your  heads  all,) 
Eaise  the  fang'd  and  warlike  mistress,  stern,  impassive, 
weapon'd  mistress. 

Pioneers  !  O  pioneers  ! 

13 

See,  my  children,  resolute  children, 
By  those  swarms  upon  our  rear,  we  must  never  yield  or 

falter. 
Ages  back  in  ghostly  millions,  frowning  there  behind  us 
urging. 

Pioneers  !  O  pioneers  ! 


S3  3  Leaves  of  Geass. 


13 


On  and  on,  the  compact  ranks, 
With  accessions  ever  waiting,  with  the  places  of  the 

dead  quickly  fill'd. 
Through  the  battle,  thi'ough  defeat,  moving  yet  and 
never  stopping, 

Pioneers  !  O  pioneers ! 

14 

O  to  die  advancing  on  ! 
Are  there  some  of  us  to  droop  and  die  ?  has  the  hour 

come  ? 
Then  upon  the  march  we  fittest  die,  soon  and  sure  the 
gap  is  fiU'd, 

Pioneers  !  O  pioneers ! 

15 

All  the  pulses  of  the  Vv'orld, 
Falling  in,  they  beat  for  us,  with  the  western  move- 
ment beat ; 
Holding  single  or  together,  steady  moving,  to  the  front, 
all  for  us, 

Pioneers !  O  jDioneers  ! 

16 

Life's  involv'd  and  varied  pageants. 
All  the  forms  and  shov;s,   all   the  workmen  at  their 

Vv^ork, 
All  the  seamen  and  the  landsmen,  all  the  masters  'uitli 
their  slaves, 

Pioneers  !  O  i^ioneers ! 


All  the  hapless  silent  lovers, 
All  the  prisoners  in  the  prisons,  all  the  righteous  and 

the  wicked. 
Ail  the  joyous,  all  the  sorrowing,  all  the  li\dng,  all  the 
dying, 

Pioneers  !  O  pioneers ! 


Marches  now  tee  War  is  Over.  331 

18 

I  too  v,'iih.  my  soul  and  body, 
We,  a  curious  trio,  picking,  wandering  on  our  way, 
Through  these  shores,  amid  the  shadows,  with  the  ap- 
paritions pressing. 

Pioneers  !  O  loioneers  ! 


19 

Lo  !  the  darting  bowhng  orb  ! 
Lo  !  the  brother  orbs  around  !  all  the  clustering  suns 

and  jDlanets  • 
All  the  dazzling  days,  all  the  mystic  nights  with  dreams, 
Pioneers !  O  pioneers  ! 


These  arc  of  us,  they  are  with  us. 
All  for  primal  needed  work,  while  the  followers  there 

in  embryo  wait  behind. 
We  to-day's  procession  heading,  we  the  route  for  travel 
clearing, 
Pioneerrj !  O  pioneers  ! 

21 

0  you  olaugliters  of  the  v/est ! 
O  you  young  and  elder  daughters  !   0  you  mothers  and 

you  wives ! 
Never  must  you  be  divided,  in  our  ranks  you  move 
united, 

Pioneers  !  0  pioneers  ! 

22 

Minstrels  latent  on  the  prairies  ! 
(Shrouded  bards  of  other  lands !  you  may  sleep — you 

have  done  your  work  ;) 
Soon  I  hear  you  coming  warbling,  soon  you  rise  and 
tramp  amid  us. 

Pioneers  !  0  pioneers ! 


332  Leaves  of  Gbass. 

28 

Not  for  delectations  sweet ; 
Not  the  cushion  and  the  sHpper,  not  the  peaceful  and 

the  studious  ; 
Not  the  riches  safe  and  palling,  not  for  us  the  tame  en- 
joyment, 

Pioneers  !  O  pioneers  ! 

24 

Do  the  feasters  gluttonous  feast  ? 
Do  the  corpulent  sleepers  sleep  ?  have  they  lock'd  and 

bolted  doors  ? 
Still  be  ours  the  diet  hard,  and  the  blanket  on  the 
ground. 

Pioneers  !  O  pioneers  ! 

25 

Has  the  night  descended  ? 
Was  the  road  of  late  so  toilsome  ?  did  we  stop  discour- 
aged, nodding  on  our  way  ? 
Yet  a  passing  hour  I  yield  you,  in  your  tracks  to  pause 
oblivious, 

Pioneers  !  O  pioneers  ! 

26 

Till  with  sound  of  trumpet, 
Far,  far  off  the  day-break  call — hark !  how  loud  and 

clear  I  hear  it  wind  ; 
Swift !  to  the  head  of  the  army ! — swift !  spring  to  your 
places. 
Pioneers  !  0  x^ioneers ! 


Mabches  now  the  War  is  Oyek.  333 

RESPONDEZ  ! 

Eespondez  !    Eespondez ! 

(The  war  is  completed — the  price  is  paid — the  title  is 
settled  beyond  recall ;) 

Let  every  one  answer !  let  those  who  sleep  be  waked ! 
let  none  evade ! 

Must  we  still  go  on  with  om'  affectations  and  sneaking? 

Lat  me  bring  this  to  a  close — I  pronounce  openly  for 
a  new  distribution  of  roles  ; 

Let  that  which  stood  in  fi'ont  go  behind !  and  let  that 
which  was  behind  advance  to  the  front  and 
speak  ; 

Lst  murderers,  bigots,  fools,  unclean  persons,  offer  new 
propositions ! 

Let  the  old  propositions  be  postponed  ! 

Let  faces  and  theories  be  turn'd  inside  out !  let  mean- 
ings be  fi'eely  criminal,  as  well  as  results  ! 

Let  there  be  no  suggestion  above  the  suggestion  of 
drudgery ! 

Let  none  be  pointed  toward  his  destination  !  (Say !  do 
you  know  your  destination  ?) 

Let  men  and  women  be  mock'd  with  bodies  and  moek'd 
with  Souls  ! 

Let  the  love  that  waits  in  them,  wait !  let  it  die,  or  pass 
still-born  to  other  spheres ! 

Let  the  sympathy  that  waits  in  every  man,  wait !  or  let 
it  also  pass,  a  dwarf,  to  other  spheres  ! 

Let  contradictions  prevail !  let  one  thing  contradict 
another !  and  let  one  hue  of  my  poems  contra- 
dict another ! 

Let  the  people  sprawl  with  yearning,  aimless  hands ! 
let  their  tongaies  be  broken !  let  their  eyes  be 
discouraged !  let  none  descend  into  theii*  hearts 
with  the  fresh  lusciousuess  of  love  ! 

(Stifled,  O  days !  O  lands !  in  every  public  and  private 
corruption ! 

Smoiher'd  in  thievery,  impotence,  shamelessness,  moun- 
tain-high ; 

Brazen  effrontery,  scheming,  rolling  like  ocean's  waves 
around  and  upon  you,  0  my  days !  my  lands ! 


334  Leaves  oi'  Geas3. 

For  not  even  those  tlumderstorixis,  nor  fiercest  light- 
nings of  the  v*'ar,  have  pnrilied  the  atmospliere  ;) 

— Let  the  theory  of  America  still  be  management,  caste, 
comparison  !  (Say !  "what  other  theory  vvonld 
you?) 

Let  them  that  distrust  bu'th  and  death  still  lead  the 
rest !     (Say !  why  shall  they  not  lead  you  ?) 

Let  the  crust  of  hell  be  neared  and  trod  on  !  let  the 
days  be  darker  than  the  nights !  let  slumber  bring 
less  slumber  than  v/aking  time  brings  ! 

Let  the  world  never  appear  to  him  or  her  for  whom  it 
was  all  made! 

Let  the  heart  of  the  young  man  still  exile  itself  from 
the  heart  of  the  old  man !  and  let  the  heart  of 
the  old  man  be  exiled  from  that  of  the  young 
man ! 

Let  the  sun  and  moon  go  !  let  scenery  take  the  applause 
of  the  audience  !  let  there  be  aj^athy  under  the 
stars ! 

Let  freedom  prove  no  man's  inalienable  right!  every 
one  who  can  tyrannize,  let  him  tyrannize  to  his 
satisfaction ! 

Let  none  but  infidels  be  countenanced ! 

Let  the  eminence  of  meanness,  treachery,  sarcasm,  hate, 
greed,  indecency,  impotence,  lust,  be  taken  for 
granted  above  all !  let  writers,  judges,  govern- 
ments, households^  religions,  philosophies,  take 
such  for  granted  above  all ! 

Let  the  vforst  men  beget  childi-cn  out  of  the  vrorst 
women ! 

Let  the  priest  still  play  at  immortality! 

Let  death  be  inaugurated ! 

Let  nothing  remain  but  the  ashes  of  teachers,  artists, 
moralists,  lawyers,  and  learn'd  and  polite  per- 
sons ! 

Let  him  who  is  without  my  poems  be  assassinated ! 

Let  the  cow,  the  horse,  the  camel,  the  garden-bee — let 
the  mud-fish,  the  lobster,  the  mussel,  eel,  the 
sting-ray,  and  the  grunting  pig-fish — let  these, 
and  the  like  of  these,  be  put  on  a  perfect  equality 
v/ith  man  and  woman ! 


Marches  now  the  War  k  Over.  335 

Let  cbnrclies  accommodate  serpents,  vermin,  and  the 
corpses  of  those  who  have  died  of  the  most 
filthy  of  diseases ! 

Let  marriage  shp  down  among  fools,  and  be  for  none 
but  fools ! 

Let  men  among  themselves  talk  and  think  forever  ob- 
scenely of  women !  and  let  women  among  them- 
selves talk  and  think  obscenely  of  men  ! 

Let  us  all,  without  missing  one,  be  exposed  in  public, 
naked,  monthly,  at  the  peril  of  our  lives !  let 
OTU'  bodies  be  freely  handled  and  examined  by 
whoever  chooses ! 

Let  nothing  but  copies  at  second  hand  be  permitted  to 
exist  upon  the  earth  ! 

Let  the  earth  desert  God,  nor  let  there  ever  henceforth 
be  mention'd  the  name  of  God  ! 

Let  there  be  no  God ! 

Let  there  be  money,  business,  imports,  exjiorts,  custom, 
authority,  precedents,  pallor,  dyspepsia,  smut, 
ignorance,  unbehef ! 

Let  judges  and  criminals  be  transposed  !  let  the  prison- 
keepers  be  pat  in  prison  !  let  those  that  were 
prisoners  take  the  keys !  (Say  I  why  might  they 
not  just  as  well  bo  transposed  ?) 

Let  the  slaves  be  masters !  let  the  masters  become  slaves ! 

Let  the  reformers  descend  from  the  stands  where  they 
are  forever  bawling !  let  an  idiot  or  insane 
person  appear  on  each  of  the  stands  ! 

Let  the  Asiatic,  the  African,  the  European,  the  Ameri- 
can, and  the  Australian,  go  armed  against  the 
mui'derous  stealthiness  of  each  other !  let  them 
sleep  armed  !  let  none  believe  in  good  will ! 

Let  there  be  no  unfashionable  wisdom !  let  such  be 
scorn'd  and  derided  oii  from  the  earth ! 

Let  a  floating  cloud  in  the  sky — let  a  wave  of  the  sea — 
let  growing  mint,  spinach,  onions,  tomatoes — 
let  taeee  be  exhibited  as  shows,  at  a  great  price 
for  admission ! 

Let  all  the  men  of  These  States  stand  aside  for  a  few 
smouchers !  let  the  few  seize  on  what  thej'- 
choose !  let  the  rest  gawk,  giggle,  starve,  obey ! 


336  Lea^tis  of  Grass. 

Let  shadows  be  furnisli'd  with  genitals  !  let  substances 

be  deprived  of  their  genitals  ! 
Let   there   be  v/ealthy  and   immense   cities — but  still 

through  any  of  them^  not  a  single  poet,  savior, 

knower,  lover ! 
Let  the  infidels  of  These  States  laugh  all  faith  away ! 
If  one  man  be  found  who  has  faith,  let  the  rest  set  upon 

him  ! 
Let  them  affright  faith !  let  them  desti'oy  the  i)ower  of 

breeding  faith  ! 
Let  the  she-harlots  and  the  he-harlots  be  prudent !  let 

them  dance  on,  while  seeming  lasts !  (O  seeming ! 

seeming!  seeming!) 
Let  the  preachers  recite  creeds !   let  them  still  teach 

only  what  they  have  been  taught ! 
Let  insanity  still  have  charge  of  sanity  1 
Let  books  take  the  place  of  trees,  animals,  rivers,  clouds ! 
Let  the  daub'd  portraits  of  heroes  superseele  heroes  ! 
Let  the  manhood  of  man  never  take  steps  after  itself ! 
Let  it  take  steps  after  eunuchs,  and  after  consumptive 

and  genteel  persons  ! 
Let  the  white   person    again  tread  the  black  person 

under  his  heel !     (Say  !  which  is  trodden  under 

heel,  after  all  ?) 
Let  the  reflections  of  the  things  of  the  world  be  studied 

in  mirrors !  let  the  things  themselves  still  con- 
tinue unstudied ! 
Let  a  man  seek  pleasure  every~u'^here  except  in  himself  1 
Let  a  woman   seek   happiness   everywhere   excej)t  in 

herself ! 
(What  real  happiness  have  you  had  one  single  hour 

through  your  whole  life  ?) 
Let  the  limited  years  of  life  do  nothing  for  the  limitless 

years  of  death  1     (What  do  you  suppose  death 

will  do,  then  ?) 


i 


Marches  imovv'  the  "S'/ar  is  Over.  337 


Turn  O  Libertad. 

Turn,  O  Libertad,  for  the  war  is  over, 

(From  it  and  all  henceforth  expaiicting*,  doubting  no 

more,  resolute,  sweeiDing  the  world,) 
Turn  from  lands  retrospective,  recording  proofs  of  tha 

past ; 
From  the  singers  that  sing  the  trailing  glories  of  the 

psisi  ; 
From  the  chants  of  the  feudal  world — the  triumphs  of 

kings,  slavery,  caste  ; 
Tui'n  to  the  world,  the  triumphs  reserv'd  and  to  come — 

give  up  that  backward  world  ; 
Leave  to  the  singers  of  hitherto — give  them  the  trailing 

past ; 
But  what  remains,  remains  for  singers  for  you — wars 

to  come  are  for  you  ; 
(Lo  !  how  the  v»'ars  of  the  past  have  duly  inured  to  you 

— and  the  wars  of  the  present  also  inure  :) 
— Then  turn,  and  be  not  alarm'd,  O  Libertad — turn 

your  undying  face, 
To  where  the  future,  greater  than  all  the  past, 
Is  swiftly,  siu'ely  prexjaring  for  you. 


Adieu  to  a  Soldier. 

^  Adieu,  O  soldier  ! 

You  of  the  rude  campaigning,  (which  w^e  shared,) 

The  rapid  march,  the  life  of  the  camp. 

The   hot    contention   of    opposing    fronts  —  the    long 

manoeuver, 
Eed  battles  with  their  slaughter, — the  stimulus — the 

strong,  terrific  game. 
Spell  of  all  brave  and  manly  hearts — the  trains  of  Time 

through  you,  and  hke  of  you,  all  fiU'd, 
With  war,  and  war's  expression, 
15 


338  Leaves  of  Grass. 

*  Adieu,  dear  comrade  ! 

Your  mission  is  fulfill'd — but  I,  more  warlike, 

Myself,  and  tliis  contentious  soul  of  mine, 

Still  on  our  own  campaigning  bound. 

Through    untried    roads,   with    ambushes,   opponents 

lined, 
Through  many  a  sharp  defeat  and  many  a  crisis — often 

baffled, 
Here  marching,  ever  marching  on,  a  war  fight  out — 

aye  here. 
To  fiercer,  weightier  battles  give  expression. 


As  I  Walk  These  Broad,  Majestic  Days. 

^  As  I  walk  these  broad,  majestic  days  of  peace, 

(For  the  war,  the  struggle  of  blood  finish' d,  wherein,  O 
terrific  Ideal ! 

Against  vast  odds,  having  gloriously  won. 

Now  thou  stridest  on — yet  perhaps  in  time  toward 
denser  wars, 

Perhaps  to  engage  in  time  in  still  more  dreadful  con- 
tests, dangers, 

Longer  campaigns  and  crises,  labors  beyond  all  others  ;) 

— As  I  walk,  sohtary,  unattended. 

Around  me  I  hear  that  eclat  of  the  world — politics, 
produce. 

The  announcements  of  recognized  things — science. 

The  approved  growth  of  cities,  and  the  spread  of  inven- 
tions. 

^  I  see  the  shij)s,  (they  will  last  a  few  years,) 
The  vast  factories,  with  their  foremen  and  workmen. 
And  hear  the  indorsement  of  all,  and  do  not  object  to 
it. 

^  But  I  too  annoimce  solid  things  ; 
Science,  ships,  politics,  cities,  factories,  are  not  nothing 
— I  watch  them. 


MaKCEES   NOV/    THE    WaE    IS    OvEK.  339 

Like  a  grand  procession,  to  music  of  distant  bugles, 
pouring,  triumpliantly  moving  —  and  grander 
heaving  in  sight  ; 

Thej'  stand  for  realities — all  is  as  it  should  be. 

■*  Then  my  realities  ; 

What  else  is  so  real  as  mine  ? 

Libertad,  and. the  divine  average — Freedom  to  every 

slave  on  the  face  of  tbe  earth, 
The  rapt  promises  and  lumine  of  seers — the  spii'itual 

world — these  centuries-lasting  songs, 
And  oiu'  visions,   the  visions  of  poets,  the  most  solid 

announcements  of  au}'. 

'  For  vv^e  support  all,  fuse  all, 
After  the  rest  is  done  and  gone,  v^e  remain  ; 
There  is  no  final  reliance  but  upon  us  ; 
Democracy  rests  finally  upon  us,  (I,  my  brethren,  be- 
gin it,) 
And  our  visions  sweep  through  eternity. 


Weave  In,  Weave  In,  My  Hardy  Life. 

Weave  in  !  weave  in,  my  hardy  life  ! 

Weave  yet  a  soldier  strong  and  full,  for  gTeat  campaigns 

to  come  ; 
Weave  in  red  blood  !  weave  sinews  in,  hke  ropes  !  the 

senses,  sight  weave  in  ! 
Weave  lasting  sure  !  weave  day  and  night  the  weft,  the 

warp,  incessant  weave  !  tire  not ! 
(We  know  not  what  the  use,  0  life  !  nor  know  the  aim, 

the  end — nor  really  aught  we  know  ; 
But  know  the  work,  the  need  goes  on,  and  shall  go  on 

— the  death-envelop'd  march  of  peace  as  well  as 

war  goes  on  ;) 
For  great  campaigns  of  peace  the  same,  the  wiry  threads 

to  weave  ; 
We  know  not  why  or  what,  yet  weave,  forever  weave. 


340  LexVves  of  Geass. 


Race  of  Veterans. 

Race  of  veterans  !     Race  of  victors  ! 
Eace  of  the  soil,  ready  for  conllict !  race  of  tlie  conquer- 
ing march  ! 
(No  more  credulity's  race,  abiding-temper'd  race  ;) 
Race  henceforth  owning  no  lav/  but  the  law  of  itself  ; 
Race  of  passion  and  the  storm. 


O  Sun  of  Real  Peace. 

O  SUN  of  real  peace  !  O  hastening  light ! 

O  free  and  extatic !  O  what  I  here,  prej)ariug,  warble 
for ! 

0  the  sun  of  the  world  will  ascend,  dazzling,  and  take 
his  height — and  you  too,  O  my  Ideal,  will  sui'ely 
ascend ! 

O  so  amazing  and  broad — up  there  resplendent,  dart- 
ing and  burning ! 

O  vision  prophetic,  stagger'd  with  weight  of  Hght !  with 
pouring  glories ! 

O  lips  of  my  soul,  already  becoming  powerless ! 

O  ample  and  grand  Presidentiads !  Now  the  war,  the 
war  is  over ! 

New  history  !  new  heroes  !  I  project  you  ! 

Visions  of  poets !  only  you  really  last !  sweejD  on !  swee^D 
on ! 

0  heights  too  swift  and  dizzy  yet ! 

O  pui'ged  and  luminous  !  you  threaten  me  more  than  I 
can  stand ! 

(I  must  not  venture — the  ground  under  my  feet  men- 
aces me — it  will  not  support  me  : 

0  future  too  immense,) — O  present,  I  return,  while  yet 
I  may,  to  you. 


Leaves  of  Grass. 


THIS   COMPOST. 


'  Something  startles  me  wliere  I  tlioiiglit  I  was  safest ; 

I  withdi-aw  from  the  still  woods  I  loved  ; 

I  will  not  go  now  on  tlie  pastures  to  walk  ; 

I  will  not  strip  the  clothes  fi'om  my  body  to  meet  my 

lover  the  sea ; 
I  will  not  touch  my  flesh  to  the  earth,  as  to  other  flesh, 

to  renew  me. 

"  O  how  can  it  be  that  the  ground  does  not  sicten  ? 

How  can  you  be  alive,  you  growths  of  spring  ? 

How  can  you  fui-nish  health,  you  blood  of  herbs,  roots, 

orchards,  grain? 
Are  they  not  continually  putting  distemj)er'd  corpses 

within  you  ? 
Is  not  every  continent  work'd  over  and  over  with  sour 

dead  ? 

^  Where  have  you  disposed  of  their  carcasses  ? 

Those  drunkards  and  gluttons  of  so  many  generations  ; 

Where  have  you  drawn  off  all  the  foul  liquid  and  meat  ? 

I  do  not  see  any  of  it  upon  you  to-day — or  perhaps  I  am 
deceiv'd  ; 

I  will  run  a  furrow  with  my  plough — I  will  press  my 
spade  through  the  sod,  and  turn  it'  up  under- 
neath ; 

I  am  sure  I  shall  expose  some  of  the  foul  meat. 


342  Leaves  of  Geass. 


^  Beliolcl  this  compost !  beliold  it  v,-eli ! 

Perhaps  everv  mite  has  once  form'd  part  of  r-  siclc  pei'- 

son — Yet  behold  ! 
The  grass  of  sin-ing-  covers  the  praii'ies, 
The  bean  bursts  noiselessly  through  the  mould  in  the 

gai'den, 
The  delicate  spear  of  the  onion  pierces  upward, 
The  aj)i3le-buc,ls  cluster  together  on  the  apple-branches, 
The  resiu'rection  of  the  wheat  appciU's  with  pale  visage 

out  of  its  graves, 
The  tinge  awakes  over  the  willow-tree  and  the  mul- 
berry-tree. 
The  he-birds  carol  mornings  and  evenings,  while  the 

she-birds  sit  on  their  nests, 
The  young  of  jioultry  break  through  the  hatch'd  eggs, 
The  new-born  of  animals  appear — the  caK  is  dropt  from 

the  cow,  the  colt  from  the  mare, 
Out  of  its  httle  hill  faithfully  rise  the  potato's  dark 

gTeen  leaves. 
Out  of  its  hill  rises  the  yellow  maize-stalk — the  lilacs 

bloom  in  the  door-yards  ; 
The  summer  growth  is  innocent  and  disdainful  above 

all  those  strata  of  soui"  dead. 

*  "What  chemistiy! 

That  the  winds  are  really  not  infectious, 

That  this  is  no  cheat,  this  transparent  green-wash  of 
the  sea,  which  is  so  amorous  after  me, 

That  it  is  safe  to  allow  it  to  lick  my  naked  body  all  over 
with  its  tongues. 

That  it  will  not  endanger  me  with  the  fevers  that  have 
deposited  themselves  in  it, 

That  all  is  clean  forever  and  forever. 

That  the  cool  drink  fi'om  the  well  tastes  so  good. 

That  blackberries  are  so  flavorous  and  juicy, 

Tliat  the  fruits  of  the  apple-orchard,  and  oi:  the  orange- 
orchard — that  melons,  grapes,  peaches,  jjlums, 
■uill  none  of  theiu  poison  me. 

That  when  I  recline  on  the  grass  I  do  not  catch  any 
disease. 


Leaves  of  Geass.  343 

Though,  probably  every  spear  of  grasfi  rises  out  of  what 
was  once  a  eatchinff  disease. 


*  Now  I  am  terrified  at  the  Earth !  it  is  that  calm  and 

patient, 
It  grows  such  .sweet  things  out  of  such  coiTuptions, 
It  turns  harmless  and  stainless  on  its  axis,  with  such 

endless  successions  of  diseas'd  corpses. 
It  distils  such  exquisite  winds  out  of  such  infused  fetor, 
It  renews  with  such  unwitting  looks,  its  prodigal,  an- 
nual, sumptuous  crops. 
It  gives  such  divine  materials  to  men,  and  accepts  such 
leavin<]rs  fi'om  them  at  last. 


UNNAMED  LANDS. 

'  Xatioxs  ten  thousand  years  before  These  States,  and 
many  times  ten  thousand  years  before  These 
States  ; 

Garner'd  clusters  of  ages,  that  men  and  women  like  us 
gi'ew  up  and  travel'd  theii'  course,  and  pass'd  on  ; 

What  vast-built  cities — what  orderly  republics — what 
pastoral  tribes  and  nomads  ; 

V»1iat  histories,  rulers,  heroes,  perhaps  transcending  all 
others  ; 

What  laws,  customs,  wealth,  arts,  traditions  ; 

YVTiat  sort  of  marriage — what  costumes — what  physi- 
ology and  phrenology  ; 

T^Tiat  of  liberty  and  slavery  among  them — what  they 
thought  of  death  and  the  soul ; 

Who  were  witty  and  wise— who  beautiful  and  poetic — 
who  l)rutish  and  undevelop'd  ; 

Not  a  mark,  not  a  record  remains — And  yet  all  remains. 

^  O  I  know  that  those  men  and  women  were  not  for 
nothing,  any  more  than  we  are  for  nothing  ; 


344  Leave3  of  Geass. 

I  know  that  they  belong  to  the  scheme  of  the  world 
every  bit  as  much  as  we  now  belong  to  it,  and  as 
all  will  henceforth  belong  to  it. 

^  Afar  they  stand — yet  near  to  me  they  stand, 

Some  with  oval  countenances,  learn'd  and  calm. 

Some  naked  and  savage — Some  like  huge  collections  of 

insects, 
Some  in  tents — herdsmen,  patriarchs,  tribes,  horsemen, 
Some  prowling  through  woods — Some  living  peaceably 

on  farms,  laboring,  reaping,  filHng  barns. 
Some  traversing  paved  avenues,  amid  temples,  palaces, 
factories,  libraries,  shows,  coiu."ts,  theatres,  won- 
derful monuments. 

^  Are  those  billions  of  men  really  gone  ? 

Are  those  women  of  the  old  experience  of  the  earth 

gone  ? 
Do  their  lives,  cities,  arts,  rest  only  with  us  ? 
Did  they  achieve  nothing  for  good,  for  themselves  ? 

^  I  believe  of  all  those  billions  of  men  and  women  that 
fill'd  the  unnamed  lands,  every  one  exists  this 
hour,  here  or  elsewhere;  invisible  to  us,  in  exact 
proportion  to  what  he  or  she  grew  from  in  life, 
and  out  of  v^^hafc  he  or  she  did,  felt,  became,  loved, 
sinn'd,  in  life. 

•^  I  believe  that  was  not  the  end  of  those  nations,  or  any 
person  of  them,  any  more  than  this  shall  be  the 
end  of  my  nation,  or  of  ms  ; 

Of  their  languages,  governments,  marriage,  literature, 
products,  games,  wars,  manners,  crimes,  prisons, 
slaves,  heroes,  poets,  I  suspect  their  results 
curiously  await  in  the  yet  unseen  world — coun- 
terparts of  what  accrued  to  them  in  the  seen 
world, 

I  suspect  I  shall  meet  them  there, 

I  suspect  I  shall  there  find  each  old  particular  of  those 
unnamed  lands. 


/ 

Leaves  of  Gkass.  345 


Mannahatta. 

'  I  WAS  asking  for  sometliing  specific  and  perfect  for 

my  city, 
Whereupon,  lo !  upsprang  the  aboriginal  name  ! 

^  Now  I  see  wliat  tliere  is  in  a  name,  a  word,  liquid, 
sane,  uiaruly,  musical,  self-sufficient ; 

I  see  that  the  word  of  my  city  is  that  word  up  there, 

Because  I  see  that  word  nested  in  nests  of  water-bays, 
superb,  with  tall  and  wonderful  spires, 

Eich,  hemm'd  thick  all  around  with  sailships  and 
steamships — an  island  sixteen  miles  long,  solid- 
founded. 

Numberless  crowded  streets — high  growths  of  iron, 
slender,  strong,  light,  splendidly  uprising  to- 
ward clear  skies  ; 

Tides  swift  and  ample,  well-loved  by  me,  toward  sun- 
dovm. 

The  flowing  sea-currents,  the  little  islands,  larger  ad- 
joining islands,  the  heights,  the  villas. 

The  countless  masts,  the  white  shore-steamers,  the  light- 
ers, the  ferry-boats,  the  black  sea-steamers,  well- 
model'd  ; 

The  down-to'v\Ti  streets,  the  jobbers'  houses  of  business 
— the  houses  of  business  of  the  ship-merchants, 
.    and  money-brokers — the  river-streets  ; 

Immigrants  arriving,  fifteen  cr  twenty  thousand  in  a 
week  ; 

The  carts  hauling  goods — the  manly  race  of  drivers  of 
horses — the  brown-faced  sailors  ; 

The  summer-air,  the  bright  sun  shining,  and  the  sail- 
ing clouds  aloft ; 

The  winter  snows,  the  sleigh-bells — the  broken  ice  in 
the  river,  passing  along,  up  or  down,  with  the 
flood-tide  or  ebb-tide  ; 

The  mechanics  of  the  .ity,  the  masters,  well-form'd, 
beautiful- faced,  looking  you  straight  in  the  eyes  ; 

Trottoirs  throng'd — vehicles — Broadway — the  women — 
the  shops  and  shovrs, 


34G  Leaves  of  Gkass. 

T]ie  parades,  processions,  bugles  playing,   flags  flying, 

drums  beating  ; 
A   million   people  —  manners  free    and   superb — open 

voices — bospitality— the    most    courageous   and 

friendly  young  men  ; 
The  free  city  !  no  slaves  !  no  owners  of  slaves  1 
The  beautiful  city,  the  city  of  hurried   and  sparkling 

waters  !  the  city  of  spires  and  masts ! 
The  city  nested  in  bays !  my  city  I 
The  city  of  such  women,  I  am  mad  to  be  with  them ! 

I  will  retiu'n  after  death  to  be  with  them ! 
The   city  of  such  young   men,  I   swear  I  cannot  live 

happy,  without  I  often  go  talk,  walk,  eat,  drink, 

sleep,  with  them  I 


OLD  IRELAND. 

'  Far  hence,  amid  an  isle  of  wondrous  beaut}^, 

Crouching  over  a  grave,  an  ancient  sorrowful  mother, 

Once  a  cjueen — now  lean  and  tatter'd,  seated  on  the 
ground, 

Her  old  v/hite  hair  drooping  dishevel'd  round  her  shoul- 
ders ; 

At  her  feet  fallen  an  unused  royal  harp. 

Long  silent — she  too  long  silent — mourning  her  shroud- 
ed hope  and  heir  ; 

Of  all  the  earth  her  heart  most  full  of  sorrow,  because 
most  full  of  love. 

^  Yet  a  word,  ancient  mother  ; 

You  need  crouch  there  no  longer  on  the  cold  gi'ound, 

with  forehead  between  your  knees  ; 
0  you  need  not  sit  there,  veil'd  in  your  old  white  hair, 

so  dishevel'd  ; 
For  know  you,  the  one  you  mourn  is  not  in  that  grave  ; 
It  v/as  an  illusion — the  heii-,  the  son  you  love,  vvas  not 

really  dead  ; 


Leaves  of  Grass.  347 

The  Lord  is  not  dead — lie  is  risen  again,  young  and 

strong,  in  another  country  ; 
Even  while  you  wept  there  by  your  fallen  harp,  by  the 

grave, 
'N\Tiat  you  wept  for,   was  translated,   pass'd  from  the 

grave. 
The  winds  favor'd,  and  the  sea  sail'd  it, 
And  now  with  rosy  and  new  blood, 
Moves  to-day  in  a  new  country. 


— ••*SiS>5£t!>»»— 


,   To  Oratists- 

'  To  ORATisTS — to  male  or  female, 

Vocalism,  measure,  concentration,  determination,  and 
the  divine  power  to  use  v/ords. 

^  Arc  you  full-lung'd  and  limber-lipp'd  from  long  trial  ? 

from  vigorous  practice  ?  from  physique  ? 
Do  you  move  in  these  broad  lands  as  broad  as  they  ? 
Come  duly  to  the  divine  power  to  use  Avords  ? 

^  For  only  at  last,  after  many  years — after  chastity, 
friendship,  procreation,  piiidence,  and  nakedness; 

After  treading  ground  and  breasting  xiver  aild  lake  ; 

After  a  loosen'd  throat — after  absorbing  eras,  tempera- 
ments, races — after  knov/ledge,  freedom,  crimes  ; 

After  complete  faith — after  clarifyings,  elevations,  and 
removing  obstructions  ; 

After  these,  and  more,  it  is  just  possible  there  comes  to 
a  man,  a  woman,  the  divine  power  to  use  words. 

*  Then  toward  that  man  or  that  woman,  swiftly  hasten 
all — None  refuse,  all  attend  ; 

Armies,  ships,  antiquities,  the  dead,  libraries,  paintings, 
machines,  cities,  hate,  despair,  amity,  pain,  theft, 
murder,  aspiration,  form  in  close  ranks  ; 


848  Leaves  of  Grass. 

Thej  cleboncli  as  tliey  are  wanted  to  marcli  obediently 
through  the  mouth  of  that  man,  or  that  woman. 

^  ....01  see  arise  orators  fit  for  inland  America  ;  • 
And  I  see  it  is  as  slow  to  become  an  orator  as  to  be- 
come a  man  ; 
And  I  see  that  all  power  is  folded  in  a  great  vocali:m. 

^  Of  a  great  vocalism,  the  merciless  light  thereof  shall 

pour,  and  the  storm  rage. 
Every  flash  shpJi  be  a  revelation,  an  insult. 
The  glaring  flame  on  depths,  on  heights,  on  suns,  on 

stars. 
On  the  interior  and  exterior  of  man  or  woman. 
On  the  laws  of  Nature — on  passive  materials, 
On  what  you  called  death — (and  what  to  you  therefore 

was  death. 
As  far  as  there  can  be  death.) 


SOLID,  IRONICAL,  ROLLING  ORB. 

SoLiB,  ironical,  rolling  orb  ! 

Master  of  all,  and  matter  of  fact ! — at  last  I  accept  your 

terms  ; 
Bx'inging  to   practical,   vulgar   tests,  of  all   my   ideal 

dreams, 
And  of  me,  as  lover  and  hero. 


Leaves  of  Grass. 


Bathed'  in  War's  Perfume, 


BATHED  IN  WAR'S  PERFUME. 

Bathed  in  war's  perfume — delicate  flag  ! 

(Should  the  days  needing  armies,  needing  fleets,  come 

agaiu,) 
O  to  hear  you  call  the  sailors  and  the  soldiers  !  flag  like 

a  beautiful  woman ! 
O  to  hear  the  tramp,  tramp,  of  a  million  ansv/ei'ing 

men  !  O  the  ships  they  arm  with  joj^ ! 
0  to  see  you  leap  and  beckon  from  the  tall  masts  of 


snips 


O  to  see  you  peering  down  on  the  sailors  on  the  decks ! 
Flag  hke  the  eyes  of  women. 


DELICATE  CLUSTER. 

Delicate  cluster !  flag  of  teeming  life  ! 

Covering  all  my  lands  !  all  my  sea-shores  lining  ! 

Flag  of  death  !  (how  I  watch'd  you  through  the  smoke 
of  battle  pressing ! 

How  I  heard  you  flap  and  rustle,  cloth  defiant !) 

Flag  cerulean  !  sunny  flag !  with  the  orbs  of  night  dap- 
pled ! 

Ah  my  silvery  beauty !  ah  my  woolly  Vv'hite  and  crim- 
son ! 

Ah  to  sing  the  song  of  you,  my  matron  mighty ! 

My  sacred  one,  my  mother. 


350  Leaves  of  Gbass. 

Song  of  the  Banner  at  Day-Break. 


Poet. 

'  O  A  new  song,  a  free  song, 

Flapping,  flapping,  flapping,  flapping,  by  sounds,  by 

voices  clearer, 
By  the  wind's  voice  and  that  of  the  drum, 
By  the  banner's  voice,  and  child's  voice,  and  sea's  voice, 

and  father's  voice. 
Low  on  the  ground  and  high  in  the  air, 
On  the  ground  where  father  and  child  stand, 
In  the  upward  air  where  their  eyes  turn, 
AVhere  the  banner  at  day-break  is  flapping. 

^  Words!  boolv-words  !  what  are  you? 

Words  no  more,  for  hearken  and  see. 

My  song  is  there  in  the  open  air— and  I  must  sing, 

With  the  banner  and  pennant  a-flapping. 

"  I'll  weave  the  chord  and  twine  in, 

Man's  desire  and  babe's  desire — I'll  twine  them  in,  I'll 
put  in  life  ; 

I'll  put  the  bayonet's  flashing  point — I'll  let  bullets  and 
slugs  whizz  ; 

(As  one  carrying  a  symbol  and  menace,  far  into  (he 
future. 

Crying  with  trumpet  voice,  Arouse  and  beware  !  Beware 
and  arouse !) 

I'll  pour  the  ver.;e  vfith  streams  of  blood,  full  of  voli- 
tion, full  of  joy  ; 

Then  loosen,  launch  forth,  to  go  and  compete, 

With  the  banner  and  pennant  a-flapping. 

Pennakt. 

"*  Come  up  here,  bard,  bard  ; 
Come  up  here,  soul,  soul ; 
Come  up  here,  dear  little  child. 

To  fly  in  the  clouds  and  winds  with  me,  and  play  v.ith 
the  measureless  li^h*:. 


SoxG  OF  THE  Banner  at  Day-brzak.  351 

Child. 

^  Fatlier,  what  is  that  in  the  sky  beckoning  to  me  with 

long  finger  ? 
And  what  does  it  say  to  mc  all  the  while  ? 

Father. 

®  Nothing,  my  habe,  you  see  in  the  sky  ; 

And  nothing  at  all  to  you  it  says.     But  look  you,  my 

babe. 
Look  at  these  dazzling  things  in  the  houses,  and  see 

you  the  money-shops  opening  ; 
And  see  you  the  vehicles  preparing  to  crawl  along  the 

streets  with  goods  : 
These !  ah,  these !  how  valued  and  toil'd  for,  these  ! 
How  envied  by  all  the  earth ! 

Poet. 

''  Fresh  and  rosy  red,  the  sun  is  mounting  high  ; 

On  floats  the  sea  in  distant  blue,  careering  through  its 

channels  ; 
On  floats  the  wind  over  the  breast  of  the  sea,  setting  in 

toward  land  ; 
The  great  steady  wind  from  west  and  west-bj^-south, 
Floating   so   buoyant,    with   milk-v.irite    foam   on   the 

waters. 

*  But  I  am  not  the  sea,  nor  the  red  sun  ; 
I  am  not  the  wind,  v/itli  girlish  laughter  ; 
Not  the  immense  wind  which  strengthens — not  the  vand 

which  lashes  ; 
Not  the  spirit  that  ever  lashes  its  own  body  to  terror 

and  death  ; 
But  I  am  that  which  unseen  comes  and  sings,  sings, 

sings, 
Which  babbles  in  brooks  and  scoots  in  showers  on  the 

land, 
"Which  the  birds   know  in  the  woods,  mornings  and 

evenings. 


352  Leaves  of  Geass, 

And  the  shore-sands  know,  and  the  hissing  wave,  and 

that  banner  and  pennant, 
Aloft  there  flapping  and  flapping. 

Child. 

^  0  father,  it  is  alive— it  is  full  of  people — it  has  chil- 
dren ! 

0  now  it  seems  to  mo  it  is  talking  to  its  children  ! 

1  hear  it — it  talks  to  me — O  it  is  wonderful ! 

O  it  stretches — it  spreads  and  runs  so  fast !     0  my 

father, 
It  is  so  broad,  it  covers  the  whole  sky ! 

Fateer. 

'"  Cease,  cease,  my  foohsh  babe, 

What  you  are  saying  is  sorrowful  to  me — much  it  dis- 
pleases me ; 

Behold  with  the  rest,  again  I  say — behold  not  banners 
and  pennants  aloft ; 

But  the  well-prepared  pavements  behold — and  mark  the 
solid-wali'd  houses. 

Banner  and  Pennant. 

"  Speak  to  the  child,  0  bard,  out  of  Manhattan  ; 

(The  war  is  over — yet  never  over  ....  out  of  it,  we  are 
born  to  real  life  and  identity  ;) 

Sx^eak  to  our  children  all,  or  north  or  south  of  Man- 
hattan, 

Where  our  factory-engines  hum,  where  our  miners 
delve  the  ground. 

Where  our  hoarse  Niagara  rumbles,  where  our  prairie- 
jdIows  are  plov.dng ; 

Speak,  O  bard  !  point  this  day,  lea\ing  all  the  rest,  to 
us  over  all — and  yet  we  know  not  v/hy  ; 

For  what  are  we,  mere  strips  of  cloth,  profiting  nothing, 

Only  flapping  in  the  wind  ? 


Song  op  the  Banner  at  Day-bkeak.  353 


Poet, 

'^  I  hear  and  see  not  strips  of  clotli  alone  ; 

I  hear  again  the  tramp  of  armies,  I  hear  the  challenging 

sentry ; 
I  hear  the  jubilant  shouts  of  millions  of  men — I  hear 

Liberty  ! 
I  hear  the  drums  beat,  and  the  trumpets  yet  blowing  ; 
I  myself  move  abroad,  swift-rising,  fiying  then  ; 
I  use  the  wings  of  the  land-bird,  and  use  the  wings  of 

the  sea-bird,  and  look  dow^n  as  from  a  height ; 
I  do  not  deny  the  precious  results  of  peace — I  see  pop- 
ulous cities,  with  wealth  incalculable  ; 
I  see  numberless  farms — I  see  the  farmers  working  in 

their  fields  or  barns  ; 
I  see  mechanics  working — I  see  buildings  everywhere 

founded,  going  up,  or  finish'd  ; 
I  see  trains  of  cars  swiftly  speeding  along  railroad 

tracks,  drawn  by  the  locomotires  ; 
I  see  the  stores,  depots,  of  Boston,  Baltimore,  Charles- 
ton, New  Orleans  ; 
I  see  far  in  the  west  the  immense  area  of  grain — I 

dwell  awhile,  hovering  ; 
I  pass  to  the  lumber  forests  of  the  north,  and  again  to 

the  southern  plantation,  and  again  to  California  ; 
Sweeping  the  whole,  I  see  the  countless  profit,  the  busy 

gatherings,  earned  wages  ; 
See  the  identity  formed  out  of  thirty-eight  spacious  and 

haughty  States,  (and  many  more  to  come  ;) 
See  forts  on  the  shores  of  harbors — see  ships  sailing  in 

and  out ; 
Then  over  all,  (aye !    aye !)  my  little  and  lengthen'd 

pennant  shaped  hke  a  sword, 
Euns  swiftly  up,  indicating  war  and  defiance — And  now 

the  halyards  have  rais'd  it, 
Side  of  my  banner  broad  and  blue — side  of  my  starry 

banner. 
Discarding  peace  over  ail  the  sea  and  laud. 


35  i  Leaves  of  Grass. 

Banner  and  Pennant. 

^^  Yet  louder,  liiglier,  stronger,  bard !  yet  farther,  wider 

cleave ! 
No  longer  let  our  children  deem  us  riches  and  peace 

alone  ; 
We  may  be  terror  and  carnage,  and  are  so  now  ; 
Not  now  are  we  any  one  of  these  spacious  and  haughty 

States,  (nor  any  five,  nor  ten  ;) 
Nor  market  nor  depot  are  we,  nor  money-bank  in  the 

city  ; 
But  thesa,  and  all,  and  the  brown  and  spreading  land, 

and  the  mines  belov/,  are  ours  ; 
■  And  the  shores  of  the  sea  are  ours,  and  the  rivers  great 

and  small ; 
And  the  fields  they  moisten  are  ours,  and  the  crops  and 

the  fruits  are  ours  ; 
Bays  and  channels,  and  ships  sailing  in  and  out,  are 

ours — and  we  over  all. 
Over  the  area  spread  below,  the  three  or  four  millions 

of  square  miles — the  capitals, 
The  forty  milhons  of  peojple — O  bard  !  in  life  and  death 

supreme, 
"VVe,  even  we,  henceforth  flaunt  out  masterful,  high  up, 

above. 
Not  for  the  present  alone,  for  a  thousand  years,  chant- 
ing through  you. 
This  song  to  the  soul  of  one  poor  little  child. 

Child. 

"  O  my  father,  I  like  not  the  houses  ; 

They  will   never   to  me  be  anything — nor   do   I  like 

money  ; 
But  to  mount  up  there  I  would  hke,  0  father  dear — 

that  banner  I  like  ; 
That  pennant  I  would  be,  and  must  be. 

Father. 

'^  Child  of  mine,  you  fill  me  with  anguish  ; 
To  be  that  pennant  v/ould  be  too  fearful ; 


Song  of  the  Banner  at  Day-beeak.  355 

Little  you  know  what  it  is  this  day,  and  after  this  day, 

forever  ; 
It  is  to  gain  Bothing,  but  risk  and  defy  everything  ; 
Forward  to  stand  iu  front  of  wars — and  O,  such  wars ! 

— what  have  you  to  do  with  them  ? 
With  passions  of  demons,  slaughter,  premature  death  ? 

Poet. 
'°  Demons  and  death  then  I  sin 


O    ' 


Put  in  all,  aye  all,  will  I — sword-shaped  pennant  for 

war,  and  banner  so  bi'oad  and  blue. 
And  a  pleasure  new  and  extatic,  and  the  prattled  yearn- 
ing of  children, 
Blent  with  the  sounds  of  the  peaceful  land,  and  the 

liquid  wash  of  the  sea  ; 
And  the  black  ships,  fighting  on  the  sea,  enveloped  in 

smoke  ; 
And  the  icy  cool  of  the  far,  far  north,  with  rustling 

cedars  and  pines  ; 
And  the  whirr  of  drums,  and  the  sound  of  soldiers 

marching,  and  the  hot  sun  shining  south  ; 
And  the  beach-waves  combing  over  the  beach  on  my 

eastern  shore,  and  my  western  shore  the  same  ; 
And  all  betv.'cen  those  shores,  and  my  ever  running 

Mississippi,  with  bends  and  chutes  ; 
And  my  Illinois  fields,  and  my  Kansas  fields,  and  my 

fields  of  Missouri ; 
The  Continent — devoting  the  whole  identity,  without 

reserving  an  atom, 
Pour  in  !  whelm  that  which  asks,  which  sings,  with  all, 

and  the  yield  of  all. 

Banner  and  Pennant. 

"  Aye  all !  for  ever,  for  all ! 

From  sea  to  sea,  north  and  south,  east  and  west, 

(The  war  is  completed,  the  price  is  paid,  the  title  is 

settled  beyond  recall ;) 
Fusing  and  holding,  claiming,  devouring  the  whole  ; 
No  more  with  tender  lip,  nor  musical  lalDial  sound. 


356  Leaves  op  Geass, 

But,  out  of  the  niglit  emerging  for  good,  our  voice  per- 
suasive uo  more, 
Croaking  like  crows  here  in  the  wind. 


Poet. 
(Finale.) 

'^  My  limbs,  my  veins  dilate  ; 

The  blood  of  tho  world  has  fill'd  me  full — my  theme  is 

clear  at  last : 
— ^Banner  so  broad,  advancing  out  of  the  night,  I  sing 

you  haughty  and  resolute  ; 
I  burst  through  where  I  v;aited  long,  too  long,  deafen'd 

and  blinded  ; 
My  sight,  my  hearing  and  tongue,  are  come  to  me,  (a 

little  child  taught  me  ;) 
I  hear  from  above,  O  pennant  of  war,  your  ironical  call 

and  demand  ; 
Insensate  I  insensate  !  (yet  I  at  any  rate  chant  you,)  O 

banner ! 
Not  houses  of  p3ac3  indeed  are  you,  nor  any  nor  all 

their  prosperity,   (if  need  be,  you  shall    again 

have  every  one  of  those  houses  to  destroy  them; 
You  thought   not   to   destroy   those   valuable   houses, 

standing  fast,  full  of  comfort,  built  with  money  ; 
May  they  stand  fast,  then  ?     Not  an  hour,  escej)t  you, 

above  them  and  all,  stand  fast ;) 
— 0  banner  !  not  money  so  precious  are  j'ou,  not  farm 

produce  you,  nor  the  material  good  nutriment, 
Nor  excellent  stores,  nor  landed  on  wharves  fi-om  the 

ships  ; 
Not  the  superb  ships,  with  sail-power  or  steam-power, 

fetching  and  carrying  cargoes, 
Nor  machinery,    vehicles,    trade,   nor  revenues, — But 

you,  as  henceforth  I  see  you, 
Running  up  out  of  the  night,  bringing  your  cluster  of 

stars,  (ever-enlarging  stars  ;) 
Divider  of  day-break  you,  cutting  the  air,  toncli'd  by 

tho  sun,  measuring  the  sky, 
(Passionately  seen  and  yearn'd  for  by  one  poor  little 

child. 


Bathed  in  War's  Perfume.  357 

WLile  others  remain  busy,  or  smartly  talking,  forever 
teaching  thrift,  thrift  ;) 

0  you  up  there !  O  pennant !  where  you  imdulate  like 

a  snake,  hissing  so  carious. 
Out  of  reach — an  idea  only — yet  furiously  fought  for, 

risking  bloody  death — loved  by  me ! 
So  loved !    O  you   banner  leading  the  day,  with  stars 

brought  .from  the  night ! 
Valueless,  object  of  eyes,  over  all  and  demanding  all — 

(absolute  owner  of  All) — O  bannei'  and  pennant ! 

1  too  leave  the  rest — great  as  it  is,  it  is  nothing — houses, 

machines  are  nothing — I  see  them  not  ; 
I  see  but  you,  O  warlike  pennant !  O  banner  so  broad, 

with  stripes,  I  sing  you  only, 
Flapping  up  there  in  the  wind.  * 


— *0'£>&t)£»5S-*— 


Ethiopia  Saluting  the  Colors. 

(A   Re7ninisceitce  of  1S64.) 
1 

Who  are  you,  dusky  woman,  so  ancient,  hardly  human, 
With  your  woollj^-white  and  tjirban'd  head,  and  bare 

bony  feet  ? 
Why,  rising  by  the  roadside  here,  do  you  the   colors 

greet  ? 

2 

('Tis  while  our  army  lines  Carolina's  sand  and  pines. 
Forth  from  thy  hovel  door,  thou,  Ethiopia,  com'st  to  me. 
As,  under  doughty  Sherman,  I  march  toward  the  sea.) 

3 

Me,  master,  years  a  hundred,  since  from  my  parents  sun- 
dered, 
A  little  child,  they  caught  me  as  the  savage  Least  is  caught ; 
Tlien  hither  me,  across  the  sea,  the  cruel  slaver  hrought. 


358  Leaves  op  Grass. 

4 

Ko  further  docs  slie  say,  but  lingering'  all  the  day, 
Her  high-borne  turban'd  head  she  wags,  and  rolls  her 

darkling  eye. 
And  cui'tseys  to  the  regiments,  the  guidons  mo^dng  by. 

5 

What  is  it,  fateful  woman — so  blear,  hardly  human  ? 
Why  wag  your  head,  with  turban  bound — ^yellow,  red 

and  green  ? 
Are  the  things  so  strange  and  marvelous,  you  see  or 

have  seen  ? 


Lo !  Victress  on  the  Peaks  I 

Lo !  Victress  on  the  peaks  ! 

Where  thou,  with  mighty  brow,  regarding  the  world, 

(The  world,  O  Libertad,  that  vainly  conspired  against 
thee  ;) 

Out  of  its  countless,  beleaguering  toils,  after  thwarting 
them  all ; 

Dominant,  with  the  dazzling  sun  around  thee, 

riauntest  now  unharm'd,  in  immortal  soundness  and 
bloom — lo !  in  these  hours  supreme. 

No  poem  proud,  I,  charjj^ing,  bring  to  thee  — nor  mas- 
terj-'s  rapturous  verse  ; 

But  a  book,  containing  night's  darkness,  and  blood- 
dripping  wounds. 

And  psalms  of  the  dead. 


World,  Take  Good  Notice. 

World,  take  good  notice,  silver  stars  fading, 
Milky  hue  ript,  weft  of  white  detaching, 
Coals  thirty-eight,  baleful  and  burning, 
Scarlet,  significant,  hands  off  warning. 
Now  and  henceforth  flaunt  from  these  shores. 


Bathed  in  Wak's  Perfume.  359 


Thick-Sprinkled  Bunting, 

Thick-sprinkled  bunting !     Flag  of  stars ! 

Long  yet  your  road,  fateful  flag ! — long  yet  your  road, 

and  lined  with  bloody  death  ! 
For  the  prize  I  see  at  issue,  at  last  is  the  world ! 
All  its  ships   and  shoi'es  I  see,  interwoven  with  your 

threads,  greedy  banner  ! 
— Dreain'd  again  the  flags  of  kings,  highest  borne,  to 

flaunt  unrival'd  ? 
0  hasten,  flag  of  man  !     O  with  sure  and  steady  step, 

passing  highest  flags  of  kings. 
Walk  supreme  to  the  heavens,  mighty  symbol — run  up 

above  them  all, 
Flag  of  stars  !  thick-sprinlded  bunting ! 


<'>60  LE.UT2S  OF  Grass. 


A  Hand-MitsROR. 

Hold  it  up  s':ernly !  See  this  it  sends  back !  (Wlio  is  it  ? 
Is  it  you  ?) 

Outside  fair  costume — witliiu  aslies  and  filth, 

No  more  a  flashing  eye — no  more  a  sonorous  voice  or 
springy  step  ; 

Now  some  slave's  eye,  voice,  hands,  step, 

A  drunkard's  breath,  unwholesome  eater's  face,  vene- 
realee's  flesh. 

Lungs  rotting  away  piecemeal,  stomach  sour  and  can- 
kerous. 

Joints  rheumatic,  bowels  clogged  with  abomination. 

Blood  circulating  dark  and  poisonous  streams. 

Words  babble,  hearing  and  touch  callous, 

No  brain,  no  heart  left — no  magnetism  of  sex  ; 

Such,  from  one  look  in  this  looking-glass  ere  you  go 
hence', 

Such  a  result  so  soon — and  from  such  a  beginning ! 


Germs. 

FoETds,  qualities,  lives,  humanity,  language,  thoughts. 

The  ones  known,  and  the  ones  unknown — the  ones  on 
the  stars, 

The  stars  themselves,  some  shaped,  others  unshaped. 

Wonders  as  of  those  countries — the  soil,  trees,  cities, 
inhabitants,  whatever  they  may  be. 

Splendid  suns,  the  moons  and  rings,  the  countless  com- 
binations and  effects  ; 

Such-like,  and  as  good  as  such-hke,  visible  here  or  any- 
where, stand  provided  for  in  a  handful  of  space, 
wliich  I  extend  my  arm  and  half  enclose  vrith  my 
hand  ; 

That  contains  the  start  of  each  and  all — the  virtue,  the 
fferms  of  all. 


Leaves  of  Grass, 


O  ME!    O  LIFE! 

O  5IE  !  O  life !  ...  of  the  questions  of  these  recurring  ; 
Of  the  endless  trains  of  tlie  faithless — of  cities  iill'd  with 

the  foolish  ; 
Of  myself  forever  reproaching*  myself,   (for  who  more 

foohsli  than  I,  and  who  more  faithless  ?) 
Of  eyes  that  vainly  crave  the  light — of  the  objects  mean 

— of  the  struggle  ever  renew'd  ; 
Of  the  poor  results  of  all — of  the  plodding  and  sordid 

crowds  I  see  around  me  ; 
Of  the  empty  and  useless  years  of  the  rest — with  the 

rest  mo  intertwined  ; 
The  question,  O  me!    so  sad,  recurriiig — "What  good 

amid  these,  O  me,-0  life  ? 

Answer. 

That  3'ou  are  here — that  life  exists,  and  identity  ; 
That  the  powerful  play  goes  on,  and  you  will  contribute 
a  verse. 


THOUGHTS. 

Of  Public  Opinion  ; 

Of  a  calm  and  cool  fiat,  sooner  or  later,  (How  impas- 
sive !  How  certain  and  final !) 

Of  the  President  with  pale  face,  asking  secretly  to  him- 
self. What  will  the  jjcojile  my  at  last  ? 
16 


362  Lkaves  of  Grass. 

Of  tlie  frivolous  Judge — Of  the  corrupt  Congressman, 

Governor,  Mayor — Of  sncli  as  these,   standing 

helpless  and  exposed  ; 
Oi  the  mumbling  and  screaming  priest — (soon,  soon 

deserted  ;) 
Of  the  lessening,  year  by  year,  of  venerableness,  and  of 

the  dicta  of  ofQcers,  statutes,  pulpits,  schools  ; 
Of  the  rising  forever  taller  and  stronger  and  broader, 

of  the  intuitions  of  men  and  women,  and  of  self- 
esteem,  and  of  personality  ; 
— Of  the  New  World — Of  the  Democracies,  resj)lendent, 

en-masse  ; 
Of  the  conformity  of  politics,  armies,  navies,  to  them 

and  to  me. 
Of  the  shining  sun  by  them — Of  the  inherent  light, 

greater  than  the  rest. 
Of  the  envelopment  of  all  by  them,  and  of  the  effusion 

of  all  from  them. 


BEGINNERS. 

How  they  are  provided  for  upon  the  earth,  (ax>pearing 

at  intervals  ;) 
How  dear  and  dreadful  they  are  to  the  earth  ; 
HoAV  they  inure  to  themselves  as  much  as  to   any — • 

What  a  paradox  appears,  their  age  ; 
How  people  respond  to  them,  yet  know  them  not ; 
How  there  is  something   relentless   in  their  fate,   all 

times  ; 
How  all  times  mischoose  the  objects  of  their  adulation 

and  reward. 
And  how  the  same  inexorable  price  must  still  be  paid 

for  the  same  great  purchase. 


Leaves  of  Grass. 


Songs  of  Insurrection. 


STILL  THOUGH  THE  ONE  I  SING. 

Still,  tbougli  the  one  I  sing, 

(One,  yet  of  contradictions  made,)  I  dedicate  to  Nation- 
ality, 

I  leave  in  him  Revolt,  (O  latent  right  of  insurrection  !  O 
quenchless,  indispensable  fire  ! ) 


TO  A  FOIL'D  EUROPEAN  REVOLUTIONAIRE. 


'  CouKAGE  yet !  my  brother  or  my  sister ! 

Keep  on  !  Liberty  is  to  be  subserv'd,  whatever  occurs  ; 

That  is  nothing,  that  is  quell'd  by  one  or  two  faUui'es, 

or  any  number  of  failures. 
Or  by  the  indifference  or  ingratitude  of  the  people,  or 

by  any  unfaithfulness. 
Or  the  show  of  the  tushes  of  power,  soldiers,  cannon, 

penal  statutes. 


3G4  Leaves  of  Grass. 

^  Revolt !  and  still  revolt !  revolt ! 

What  we  believe  in  waits  latent  forever  through  all 
the  continents,  and  all  the  islands  and  archi- 
pelagos of  the  sea  ; 

What  we  believe  in  invites  no  one,  promises  nothing, 
sits  in  calmness  and  light,  is  positive  and  com- 
posed, knows  no  discouragement, 

Waiting  patieutly,  waiting  its  time. 

^  (Not  songs  of  loyalty  alone  are  these, 

But  sougs  of  insurrection  also  ; 

For  I  am  the  sworn  poet  of  every  dauntless  rebel,  the 

world  over, 
And  he  going  with  me  leaves  peace  and  routine  behind 

him. 
And  stakes  his  life,  to  be  lost  at  any  moment.) 

2 

^  Revolt !  and  the  downfall  of  tyrants  ! 

The  battle  rages  with  many  a  loud  alarm,  and  fi-equent 
advance  and  retreat, 

The  intidel  triumphs — or  supposes  he  triumphs. 

Then  the  prisoD,  scaffold,  garrote,  hand-cuffs,  iron  neck- 
lace and  anklet,  lead-balls,  do  their  work. 

The  named  and  unnamed  heroes  pass  to  other  spheres. 

The  great  speakers  and  writers  are  exiled — they  lie  sick 
in  distant  lands. 

The  cause  is  asleep — the  strongest  throats  arc  still, 
choked  with  their  own  blood, 

The  young  men  droojD  their  eyelashes  toward  the  ground 
when  they  meet ; 

— But  for  all  this,  liberty  has  not  gone  out  of  the  place, 
nor  the  infidel  enter'd  into  full  possession. 

^  When  liberty  goes  out  of  a  place,  it  is  not  the  first  to 

go,  nor  the  second  or  third  to  go. 
It  waits  for  all  the  rest  to  go — it  is  the  last. 

®  When  there  are  no  more  memories  of  heroes  and 
martyrs, 


Songs  of  Insukeeotion.  365 

And  when  all  life,  and  all  the  souls  of  men  and  women 
are  discharged  from  any  part  of  the  eartb , 

Then  only  shall  liberty,  or  the  idea  of  liberty,  be  dis- 
charged from  that  j)art  of  the  earth, 

And  the  infidel  come  into  full  possession. 


'  Then  courage  !  Euroj^ean  revolter  !  revoltress ! 
For,  till  all  ceases,  neither  must  you  cease. 

*  I  do  not  know  what  you  arc  for,  (I  do  not  know"  what 

I  am  for  myself,  nor  what  anything  is  for,) 
But  I  will  search  carefully  for  it  even  in  being  foil'd. 
In  defeat,  poverty,  misconception,  imprisonment— for 
they  too  are  great. 

"  Revolt !  and  the  bullet  for  tyrants  ! 

Did  we  think  victory  great  ? 

So  it  is — But  now  it  seems  to  me,  when  it  cannot  be 

help'd,  that  defeat  is  great. 
And  that  death  and  dismay  are  great. 


FRANCE, 

The   i8th  Year  of  These  States. 


^  A  GREAT  year  and  place  ; 

A  harsh,  discordant,  natal  scream  out-sounding,  to 
touch  the  mother's  heart  closer  than  any  yet. 

-  I  walk'd  the  shores  of  my  Eastern  Sea, 

Heard  over  the  waves  the  little  voice. 

Saw  the  divine  infant,  where  she  woke,  mournfully  wail- 
ing, amid  the  roar  of  cannon,  curses,  shouts, 
crasli  of  falling  buildings" ; 


366  Leaves  or  Geass. 

Was  not  so  sick  from  the  IjIoocI  in  the  gutters  running 
— nor  from  the  single  corpses,  nor  those  in  heaps, 
nor  those  borne  away  in  the  tumbrils  ; 

Was  not  so  desperate  at  the  battues  of  death — was  not 
so  shock'd  at  the  re^Dcated  fusillades  of  the  guns. 


^  Pale,  silent,  stern,  what  could  I  say  to  that  long- 
accrued  retribution  ? 
Could  I  wish  humanity  different  ? 
Could  I  wish  the  people  made  of  wood  and  stone  ? 
Or  that  there  be  no  justice  in  destiny  or  time  ? 

3 

*  0  Liberty  !  O  mate  for  me  ! 

Here  too  the  blaze,  the  grape-shot  and  the  axe,  in  re- 
serve, to  fetch  them  out  in  case  of  need  ; 
Here  too,  though  long  rejorest,  can  never  be  destroy'd  ; 
Here  too  could  rise  at  last,  murdering  and  cxtatic  ; 
Here  too  demanding  full  arrearKS  of  vengeance. 


^  Hence  I  sign  this  salute  over  the  sea, 

And  I  do  not  deny  that  terrible  red  birth  and  baptism. 

But  remember  the  little  voice  that  I  heard  wailing — and 

wait  with  perfect  trust,  no  matter  how  long  ; 
And  from  to-day,  sad  and  cogent,  I  maintain  the  bc- 

queath'd  cause,  as  for  all  lauds. 
And  I  send  those  words  to  Paris  with  my  love, 
And  I  guess  some  chansonniers  thei'e  will  understand 

them. 
For  I  guess  there  is  latent  music  yet  in  France — floods 

of  it ; 
O  I  hear  already  the  bustle  of  instruments — they  will 

soon  be  drowning  all  that  would  interrupt  them  ; 

0  I  think  the  east  wind  brings  a  triumphal  and  free 

march, 
It  reaches  hither — it  swells  me  to  joyful  madness, 

1  u'ill  run  transpose  it  in  v/ords,  to  justify  it, 
I  will  yet  sing  a  song  for  you,  ma  femme. 


S0NG.S    CF   I>'SUREECTION.  3G7 

EUROPE, 

The  72d  and  73d  Years  of  These  States. 


^  Suddenly,  out  of  its  stale  and  drowsy  lair,  the  lair  of 

slaves, 
Like  lightning  it  le'pt  forth,  half  startled  at  itself, 
Its  feet  upon  the  ashes  and  the  rags — its  hands  tight  to 

the  throats  of  kings. 

^  O  hope  and  faith  ! 

O  aching  close  of  exiled  patriots'  lives ! 

O  many  a  sicken'd  heart ! 

Turn  back  unto  this  day,  and  make  yourselves  afresh. 

^  And  you,  paid  to  defile  the  People  !  you  liars,  mark  ! 

Not  for  numberless  agonies,  murders,  lusts, 

For  court  thieving  in  its  manifold  mean  forms,  worming 

from  his  simplicity  the  poor  man's  wages, 
For  many  a  promise  sworn  by  royal  lips,  and  broken, 

and  laugli'd  at  in  the  breaking, 
Then  in  their  power,  not  for  all  these,  did  the  blows 

strike  revenge,  or  the  heads  of  the  nobles  fall ; 
The  People  scorn'd  the  ferocity  of  kings. 


'  But  the  sweetness  of  mercy  brow'd  bitter  destruction, 
and  the  frighten'd  monarchs  come  back  ; 

Each  comes  in  state,  with  his  train — hangman,  priest, 
tax-gatherer. 

Soldier,  lawyer,  lord,  jailer,  and  sycophant. 

'  Yet  behind  all,  lowering,  stealing — lo,  a  Shape, 
Vague  as  the  night,  draped  interminably,  head,  front 

and  foi-m,  in  scarlet  folds. 
Whose  face  and  eyes  none  may  see, 


3G8  Leaves  of  Grass. 

Out  of  its  robes  ouly  (his — the  red  robes,  lifted  by  the 

arm, 
One  fingei",  crook'd,  pointed  high  over  the  top,  like  the 

head  of  a  snake  appears. 


"  Meanwhile,  corpses  lie  in  new-inado  graves— bloody 

corpses  of  young  men  ; 
The  rope  of  the  gibbet  hangs  heavity,  the  bullets  of 

princes  are  liying,  the  creatui-es  of  power  laugh 

aloud, 
And  all  these  things  bear  fruits — end  they  are  good. 

'  Those  corpses  of  young  men, 

Those  martyrs  that  hang  from  the  gibbets — those  hearts 

pierc'd  by  the  grcij  lead, 
Cold  and  motionless  as  they  seem,  live  elsewhere  with 

un  slaughter 'd  vitality. 

^  They  live  in  other  young  mea,  0  Icings  ! 
They  live  in  brothers,  again  ready  to  defy  you  ! 
They  ^vere  purified  by  death— tlicy  were  taught  and 
exalted. 

'^  Not  a  grave  of  the  mua'der'd  for  freedom,  but  grows 
seed  for  freedom,  in  its  turn  to  bear  seed, 

"Which  the  wands  carry  afar  and  re- sow,  and  the  rains 
and  the  snows  nourish. 

'"  Not  a  disembodied  spirit  can  the  weapons  of  tyrants 
let  loose, 

But  it  stalks  invisibly  over  the  earth,  whispering,  coun- 
seling, cautioning. 


"  Liberty  !  let  others  despair  of  you !   I  never  despair 
of  you. 

'-  Is  the  house  shut  ?     Is  the  master  away  ? 
Nevertheless,  be  ready — ^be  not  weary  of  watching  ; 
He  will  soon  return — his  messengers  come  anon. 


^oxca  c:r  iNsunr.ECTZON.  0G9 


Wak  Whitman's  Caution. 

To  TliG  States,  or  airy  ono  of  them,  or  any  city  of  The 

States,  Eesiti  much,  obey  little  ; 
Once  unquestioning  obedience,  once  fully  enslaved  ; 
Once  fully  enslaved,  no  nation,  state,  city,  of  this  earth, 

ever  afterward  resumes  its  liberty. 


To  a  Certain  Cantatrice. 

Heee,  take  this  gift ! 

I  was  reserving  it  for  some  hero,  speaker,  or  General, 

One   who  should  serve  the   good  old  cause,  the  great 

Idea,  the  progress  and  freedom  of  the  race  ; 
Some  brave  confronter  of  despots — some  daring  rebel ; 
— But  I  see  that  what  I  was  reserving,  belongs  to  you 

just  as  much  as  to  any. 


Leaves  of  Grass. 


To  You. 

\  "Whoever  j^ou  tiro,  I  fear  you  arc  -warKing  tlao  vralks  of 
dreams, 

I  fear  these  suioposed  realities  arc  to  melt  from  under 
your  feet  and  bauds  ; 

Even  now,  your  features,  joys,  S2:)eecli,  house,  trade, 
manners,  troubles,  folhes,  costume,  crimes,  dissi- 
pate away  from  you. 

Your  true  Soul  and  Body  appear  before  me. 

They  stand  forth  out  of  affairs — out  of  commerce,  shops, 
law,  science,  work,  farms,  clothes,  the  house, 
medicine,  print,  buying,  selling,  eating,  drinking, 
suffering,  dying. 

^  "Wlioever  you  are,  now  I  place  my  hand  upon  you, 

that  you  be  my  poem  ; 
I  w^hisper  with  my  lips  close  to  your  ear, 
I  have  loved  many  women  and  men.  but  I  love  none 

better  than  you. 

^  O  I  have  been  dilatory  and  dumb  ; 
I  should  have  made  my  way  straight  to  j-ou  long  ago  ; 
I  should  have  blabb'd  nothing  but  you,  I  shoiild  have 
chanted  nothing  but  you. 

"*  I  will  leave  all,  and  come  and  make  the  hymns  of  you; 
None  have  understood  you,  but  I  understand  you  ; 
None  have  done  justice  to  you — you  have  not  done 

justice  to  yourself  ; 
None  but  have  found  you  imperfect — I  only  find  no 

imperfection  in  you  ; 


Leaves  cf  Gi:a3s.  371 

None  but  would  suborclinf.tG  j'ou — I  only  am  lie  vvLo 
will  never  consent  to  subordinate  you  ; 

I  only  am  he  who  places  over  you  no  master,  owner, 
better,  God,  beyond  v/liat  v/aits  intrinsically  in 
yourself. 

^  Painters  have  painted  tlieir  sv/arming  groups,  and  the 

centre  figure  of  all ; 
From  the  head  of  the  centre  figuro  spreading  a  nimbus 

of  gold-color'd  light  ; 
But  I  paint  myriads  of  heads,  but  paint  no  head  v/ith- 

out  its  nimbus  of  gold-color'd  light ; 
Trom  my  hand,  from  the  brain  of  every  man  and  woman 

it  streams,  efiulgeutly  flovv'ing  forever. 

*  O  I  could  vAng  such  gxaudeurs  and  glories  about  you ! 
You  have  not  knovvn  what  you  are — you  have  slumber'd 

upon  yourself  all  your  life  ; 
Your  eye-lids  have  been  the  same  as  closed  most  of  the 

time  ; 
What  you  have  done  returns  already  in  mockeries  ; 
(Your  thrift,  knowledge,  prayers,  if  they  do  not  return 

in  mockeries,  vv'hat  is  their  return  '?) 

'  The  mockeries  are  not  you  ; 

Underneath  them,  and  within  them,  I  see  you  lurk  ; 

I  pursue  you  where  none  else  has  pursued  you  ; 

Silence,  the  desk,  the  flippant  expression,  the  night,  the 
accustom'd  routine,  if  these  conceal  you  from 
others,  or  from  yourself,  they  do  not  conceal  yoa 
from  me  ; 

The  shaved  face,  the  unsteady  eye,  the  impure  com- 
plexion, if  these  balk  others,  they  do  not  balk 
me. 

The  pert  apparel,  the  deform'd  attitude,  drunkenness, 
greed,  premature  death,  all  these  I  part  aside. 

*  There  is  no  endowment  in  man  or  woman  that  is  not 

tallied  in  you  ; 
There  is  no  virtue,  no  beauty,  in  man  or  woman,  but  as 
good  is  in  you  ; 


372  Leaves  of  Gkas:. 

No  pluck,  no  cadiiranco  in  otliei's,  but  as  good  is  ia 

you; 
Iso  pleasure  ■waiting  for  ethers,  hvd  an  equal  pleasure 

■wait.!  for  you. 

^  As  for  me,  I  give  nothing  to  any  one,  except  I  give 

the  like  carefully  to  you ; 
I  sing  the  songs  of  the  glory  of  none,  not  God,  sooner 

than  I  sing  the  songs  of  the  glory  of  you. 

"'  Whoever  you  arc  !  claim  your  own  at  any  hazard  ! 

These  shows  of  the  east  and  west  are  taiiie,  comjDared 
lo  5"ou  ; 

The.'ie  immense  meadows — these  interminable  rivcrn — 
5'ou  are  immense  and  interminable  as  they  ; 

These  furies,  elements,  storms,  motions  of  Nature, 
throes  of  apparent  dissolution — you  are  he  or 
she  who  is  master  or  mistress  over  them, 

Master  or  mistress  in  your  own  right  over  Nature,  ele- 
ments, pain,  passion,  dissolution. 

^'  The  hopples  fall  fi'om  your  anMes — you  find  an  un- 
failing suaiciency  ; 

Old  or  young,  male  or  female,  rude,  lov/,  rejected  by 
the  rest,  whatever  you  are  promulges  itself  ; 

Through  bu'th,  life,  death,  burial,  the  means  are  pro- 
vided, nothing  is  scanted  ; 

Through  augers,  losses,  ambition,  ignorance,  ennui, 
what  you  arc  picks  its  way. 


Leaves  of  Grass. 


AS  THE  TIME  DRAWS  NIGH. 


'  As  tlic  time  draws  uigli,  glooming,  ti  cloud, 

A  dread  beyond,  of  I  know  not  v/hat,  darkens  mc. 

■  I  shall  go  fortli, 

I  sliall  traverse  The  States  awhile — but  I  cannot  tell 

whither  or  how  long  ; 
Perhaps  soon,  some  day  or  night  v/hilc  I  am  singing, 

my  voice  v/ill  suddenly  cease. 


■"  O  book,  O  chants  !  must  all  then  amount  to  but  this  ? 
Must  we  barely  arrive  at  this  beginning  of  us  ?   .    .    . 

And  yet  it  is  enough,  O  soul ! 
O  soul !  we  have  positively  appear'd — that  is  enough. 


YEARS  OF  THE  MODERN. 

YEAr.s  of  the  modern  !  years  of  the  unperform'd  ! 
Yotu-  horizon   rises — I  see  it  parting  away  for  more 

august  dramas ; 
I  see  not  America  only — I  see  not  only  Lib-rty'f;  nation, 

but  other  nations  ])rcparing  ; 


374  Leaves  of  Gka^s. 

I  see  tremendous  entrances  and  exits — I  see  nev^  com- 
binations— I  see  the  solidarity  of  races  ; 

I  sec  that  force  advancing  with  irresistible  power  en  the 
world's  stage  ; 

(Have  the  old  forces,  the  old  w.xrs,  played  their  parts  ? 
are  the  acts  suitable  to  them  closed  ?) 

1  S33  Freedom,  comi^letelv  arm'd,  and  victorious,  and 
very  haughty,  with  Lav/  on  one  side,  and  Peace 
on  the  other, 

A  stupendous  Trio,  cJl  issuing  forth  against  the  idea  of 
caste  ; 

— What  historic  deaouomcnts  are  these  v/e  so  rapidly 
approach  ? 

I  SG3  men  marching  and  countermarching  by  svv'iit  mil- 
lions ; 

I  S33  the  frontiers  and  boundaries  of  the  old  aristocra- 
cies broken 

I  see  the  landmarks  of  European  kings  removed  ; 

I  se3  this  day  the  People  beginning  their  landmarks, 
(all  others  give  way  ;) 

— Never  were  such  sharp  qnesti(ms  ask'd  as  this  day  ; 

Never  was  average  maD,  his  soul,  more  energetic,  more 
like  a  God  ; 

Lo !  how  he  urges  and  urges,  leaving  the  masses  no 
rest ; 

His  daring  foot  is  on  land  and  sea  everywhere — he  col- 
onizes the  Pacific,  the  archipelagoes  ; 

With  the  steam-ship,  the  electric  telegraph,  the  news- 
paper, the  wholesale  engines  of  war. 

With  these,  and  the  world-spreading  factories,  he  inter- 
links all  geography,  all  lands  ; 

— What  Avhispers  are  these,  O  lands,  running  ahead  of 
you,  passing  under  the  seas  ? 

Are  all  nations  communing  ?  is  there  going  to  be  but 
one  heart  to  the  globe  ? 

Is  humanity  forming,  en-masse  ? — for  lo  !  tyrants  trem- 
ble, crowns  grow  dim  ; 

The  earth,  restive,  confronts  a  new  era,  perhax)3  a  gen- 
eral divine  v/ar  ; 

No  one  knows  what  will  happen  ^cxt — such  portents 
fill  the  davs  and  nights  ; 


Songs  or  Parting.  375 

Yen,rs  prophetical !  the  space  ahead  as  I  walk,  as  I  vain- 
ly try  to  iDierce  it,  is  fall  of  phantoms  ; 

Unborn  deeds,  things  soon  to  be,  project  their  shapes 
around  me  ; 

This  incredible  rush  and  heat — this  strange  estatic 
fever  of  dreams,  O  years  ! 

Your  dreams,  O  years,  how  they  penetrate  through  me ! 
(I  know  not  whether  I  sleep  or  wake  !) 

The  perform'd  America  and  Euroj^e  grow  dim,  retiring 
in  shadow  behind  me. 

The  unperforhi'd,  more  gigantic  than  ever,  advance,  ad- 
vance upon  me. 


THOUGHTS. 


Of  these  years  I  sing. 

How  they  pass  and  have  pass'd,  through  convuls'd 
pains,  as  through  parturitions  ; 

How  America  illustrates  bu'th,  muscular  youth,  the 
promise,  the  sure  fulfillment,  the  Absolute  Suc- 
cess, despite  of  people — Illustrates  evil'as  well  as 
good  ; 

How  many  hold  despairingly  yet  to  the  models  de- 
parted, caste,  myths,  obedience,  compulsion,  and 
to  infidelity  ; 

How  few  see  the  arrived  models,  the  Athletes,  the 
Western  States — or  see  freedom  or  spirituality — 
or  hold  any  faith  in  results, 

(But  I  see  the  Athletes — and  I  see  the  results  of  the  war 
glorious  and  inevitable — and  they  again  leading 
to  other  results  ;) 

How  the  great  cities  appear — How  the  Democratic 
masses,  turbulent,  wilful,  as  I  love  them  ; 

How  the  whirl,  the  contest,  the  wrestle  of  evil  with 
good,  the  sounding  and  resounding,  keep  on 
and  on  ; 


37G  Leaves  of  Grass. 

Ho^v  Gociety  waits  unform'd,  and  is  for  a  while  between 
things  ended  and  things  begun  ; 

How  America  is  the  continent  of  glories,  and  of  the 
triumph  of  freedom,  and  of  the  Democracies, 
and  of  the  fruits  of  society,  and  of  all  that  is 
begun  ; 

And  how  The  States  are  complete  in  themselves — And 
how  all  triumphs  and  glories  are  complete  in 
themselves,  to  lead  onward. 

And  how  these  of  mine,  and  of  The  States,  will  in  their 
turn  be  convals'd,  and  serve  other  parturitions 
and  transitions, 

And  how  all  people,  sights,  combinations,  the  Demo- 
cratic masses,  too,  serve — and  how  every  fact, 
and  war  itself,  with  all  its  horrors,  serves, 

And  how  now,  or  at  any  time,  each  serves  the  exquisite 
transition  of  death. 

2 

Of  seeds  di'opping  into  the  ground — of  birth, 

Of  the  steady  concentration  of  America,  inland,  upward, 

to  impregnable  and  swarming  places. 
Of  what  Indiana,  Kentucky,  Ohio  and  the  rest,  are  to  be, 
Of  what  a  few  years  will  show  there  in  Nebraska,  Col- 
orado, Nevada,  and  the  rest  ; 
(Or   afar,  mounting  the  Northern  Pacific  to  Sitka  or 

Aliaska  ;) 
Of  what  the  feuillage  of  America  is  the  preparation  for 

— and  of  what  all  sights,  North,  South,  East  and 

West,  are  ; 
Of  This  Union,  soak'd,  welded  in  blood — of  the  solemn 

price  paid — of  the  unnamed  lost,  ever  present  in 

my  mind  ; 
— Of  the  ten>porary  use  of  materials,  for  identity's  sake. 
Of  the  present,  passing,  departing — of  the  gi'owth  of 

completer  men  than  any  yet. 
Of  myself,  soon,  perhaps,  closing  iip  my  songs  by  these 

shores,^^ 
Of  California,  of  Oregon — and  cf  mo  journeying  to  livo 

and  sing  there  ; 


Songs  of  Pabting.  377 

Of  the  Western  Sea — of  the  spread  inland  betv/een  it 
and  tlis  spinal  river, 

Of  the  great  pastoral  area,  athletic  and  feminine,     - 

Of  all  sloping  down  there  where  the  fresh  free  giver, 
the  mother,  the  Mississippi  flows. 

Of  future  women  there — of  hajopiness  in  those  high 
plateaus,  ranging  three  thousand  miles,  warm 
and  cold  ; 

Of  mighty  inland  cities  yet  unsurveyVl  and  ud sus- 
pected, (as  I  am  also,  and  as  it  must  be  ;) 

Of  the  new  and  good  names — of  the  modern  develop- 
ments— of  inalienable  homesteads  ; 

Of  a  free  and  original  life  there — of  simple  diet  and 
clean  and  sweet  blood  ; 

Of  litheness,  majestic  faces,  clear  eyes,  and  perfect 
physique  there  ; 

Of  immense  spiritual  results,  future  years,  far  west, 
each  side  of  the  Anahuacs  ; 

Of  these  leaves,  well  understood  there,  (being  made  for 
that  area  ;) 

Of  the  native  scorn  of  grossness  and  gain  there  ; 

(O  it  lurks  in  me  night  niid  day — What  is  gain,  after 
all,  to  savageness  and  freedom  ?) 


Song  at  Sunset. 

'  Splehdok  of  ended  day,  floating  and  filling  me  ! 
Hour  prophetic — hour  resuming  the  past ! 
Inflating  ray  throat — you,  divine  average ! 
You,  Earth  and  Life,  till  the  last  ray  gleams,  I  sing. 

■  Open  mouth  of  my  Soul,  uttering  gladness, 
Eyes  of  my  Soul,  seeing  perfection, 
Nattu'al  life  of  me,  faithfully  praising  things  ; 
Corroborating  forever  the  trium"!3h  of  things. 


378  Leaves  op  Grass. 

"  Illustrious  every  one ! 

Dlustrious  what  we  name   space — sphere   of  uunum- 

ber'd  spirits  ; 
Illustrious  the  mystery  of  motion,  in  all  beings,  even 

the  tiniest  insect ; 
Illustrious   the   attribute   of  speech — the   senses — the 

body  ; 
Illustrious    the   passing  light!      Illustrious    the    pale 

reflection  on  the  new  moon  in  the  western  sky  ! 
Illustrious  v/hatever  I  see,  or  hear,  or  touch,  to  the  last. 

•*  Good  in  all. 

In  the  satisfaction  and  aplomb  of  animals, 

In  the  aimual  return  of  the  seasons. 

In  the  hilarity  of  youth. 

In  the  strength  and  flush  of  manhood. 

In  the  grandeur  and  exquisiteness  of  old  age, 

In  the  superb  vistas  of  Death. 

^  "Wonderful  to  depart  ; 

Wonderful  to  be  here ! 

The  heart,  to  jet  the  all-alike  and  innocent  blood ! 

To  breathe  the  air,  how  delicious  ! 

To  speak  !  to  walk  !  to  seize  something  by  the  hand ! 

To   prepare  for  sleep,  for  bed — to  look  on  my  rose- 

color'd  flesh  ; 
To  be  conscious  of  my  body,  so  satisfied,  so  large  ; 
To  be  this  incredible  God  I  am  ; 
To  have  gone  forth  among  other  Gods — thes3  men  and 

women  I  love. 

•^  Wonderful  hovv'  I  celebrate  you  and  myself ! 

How  my  thoughts  play  subtly  at  the  spectacles  around! 

How  the  clouds  pass  silently  overhead  ! 

How  the  earth   darts  on  and  on !    and  how  the  sun, 

moon,  stars,  dart  on  and  on  ! 
How  the  water  sports  and  sings  !   (Surely  it  is  alive  !) 
Hov/  the  trees  rise  and  stand  up — with  strong  trunks — 

with  branches  and  leaves  !    . 
(Surely  there  is  something  more  in  each  of  the  trees — 

some  living  Soul.) 


Songs  of  Paeting.  379 

''  O  amazement  of  tilings  !  even  the  least  particle  ! 
O  spiritualitj  of  things  ! 

0  strain  musical,  flowing  through  ages  and  continents 

— now  reaching  me  and  'America  ! 

1  take  your  strong  chords — I   intersperse  them,  and 

cheerfully  pass  them  forward. 

^  I  too  carol  the  sun,  iisher'd,  or  at  noon,  or,  as  now, 

setting, 
I  too  throb  to  the  brain  and  beauty  of  the  earth,  and 

of  all  the  growths  of  the  earth, 
I  too  have  felt  the  resistless  call  of  myself. 

^  As  I  sail'd  down  the  Mississippi, 

As  I  wander'd  over  the  prairies. 

As  I  have  lived — As  I  have  look'd  through  my  windov/s, 
my  eyes, 

As  I  went  forth  in  the  morning — As  I  beheld  the  hglit 
breaking  in  the  east ; 

As  I  bathed  oil  the  beach  of  the  Eastern  Sea,  and  again 
on  the  beach  of  the  Western  Sea  ; 

As  I  roam'd  the  streets  of  inland  Chicago — whatever 
streets  I  have  roam'd  ; 

Or  cities,  or  silent  woods,  or  peace,  or  even  amid  the 
sights  of  war  ; 

Wherever  I  have  been,  I  have  charged  myself  with  con- 
tentment and  triumph. 

"^  I-sing  the  Equalities,  modern  or  old, 
I  sing  the  endless  finales  of  things  ; 
I  say  Nature  continues — Glory  continues  ; 
I  praise  with  electric  voice  ; 

For  I  do  not  see  one  imperfection  in  (he  universe  ; 
And  I  do  not  see  one  cause  or  result  lamentable  at  last 
in  the  universe. 

"  O  setting  sun !  though  the  time  has  come, 
I  still  warble  under  you,  if  none  else  does,  unmitigated 
adoration. 


380  Leaves  cp  Geass. 

When  I  Heard  the  Learn'd  Astronomer. 

"When  I  heard  tlie  learned  astronomer  ; 

When  the  proofs,  the  figures,  v/ere  ranged  in  columns 

before  me  ; 
When  I  was  shown  the  charts  and  the  diagrams,  to  add, 

divide,  find  measure  them  ; 
Yvhen  I,  sitting,  heard  the  astronomer,  where  he  lee- 

tured  with  much  applause  iii  the  lectui'e-room, 
How  soon,  unaccountable,  I  became  tired  and  sick  ; 
Till  rising  and  gliding  out,  I  wander'd  off  by  myself, 
In  the  mystical  moist  night-air,  and  from  time  to  time, 
Look'd  up  in  perfect  silence  at  the  stars. 


To  Rich  Givers. 

What  you  give  me,  I  cheerfully  accept, 

A  little  sustenance,  a  hut  and  garden,  a  little  money — 

these,  as  I  rendezvous  with  my  poems  ; 
A  traveler's  lodging  and  breakfast  as  I  journey  through 

The  States — Why  should  I  be  ashamed  to  own 

such  gifts  ?  Why  to  advertise  for  them  ? 
For  I  myself  am  not  one  who  bestows  nothing  upon 

man  and  woman  ; 
For  I  bestow  upon  any  man  or  woman  the  entrance  to 

all  the  gifts  of  the  universe. 


Thought. 

Of  what  T  write  from  myself — As  if  that  were  not  the 

resume  ; 
Of  Histories — As  if  such,  however  complete,  were  not 

less  complete  than  the  preceding  poems  ; 
As  if  those  shreds,  the  records  of  nations,  could  jDOSsibly 

be-  as  lasting  as  the  preceding  poems  ; 
As  if  here  were  not  the  amount  of  all  nations,  and  oi  all 

tiic  lives  of  heroes. 


Songs  of  Parting.  381 


SO  LONG! 


'  To  conclude — -'I  finnounce  what  comes  after  me  ; 
I  annouuce  miglitiei*  offspring',  orators,  days,  and  then, 
for  the  present,  depart. 

^  I  remember  I  said,  before  my  leaves  sprang-  at  all, 
I  would  raise  my  voice  jocund  and  strong,  with  reference 
to  consummations. 

^  When  America  does  what  was  promis'd, 

"When  there  are  plentiful  atliletic  bards,  inland  and 
seaboard, 

When  through  These  States  walk  a  hundred  millions  o^ 
superb  persons. 

When  the  rest  part  away  for  superb  persons,  and  con- 
tribute to  them. 

When  breeds  of  the  most  perfect  mothers  denote 
America, 

Then  to  me  and  mine  our  due  fruition. 

*  I  have  press'd  through  in  my  own  right, 

I  have  sung  the  Body  and  the  Soul — War  and  Peace 

have  I  sung, 
And  the  songs  of  Life  and  of  Birth — and  shown  that 

there  are  many  births  : 
I  have  offer'd  my  style  to  every  one — I  have  journey'd 

with  confident  step  ; 
While  my  pleasure  is  yet  at  the  full,  I  whisper,  So  long  ! 
And  take  the  young  woman's  hand,   and   the  young 

man's  hand,  for  the  last  time. 

2 

*  I  announce  natural  persons  to  arise  ; 
I  announce  justice  triumphant ; 


382  Leaves  of  Geass. 

I  anuounce  uncomproniisiDg  liberty  and  equality ; 
I  announce  the  justification  of  candor,  and  the  justific:x- 
tion  of  pride. 

®  I  announce  that  the  identity  of  These  States  is  a 
single  identity  only  ; 

I  announce  tlie  Union  more  and  more  compact,  indis- 
soluble ; 

I  announce  splendors  and  majesties  to  make  all  the 
previous  politics  of  the  earth  insignificant. 

'  I  announce  adhesiveness — I  say  it  shall  be  limitless, 

unloosened  ; 
I  say  you  shall  yet  find  the  friend  you  were  looking  for. 

^  I  announce  a  man  or  woman  coming — perhaps  you 

are  the  one,  {So  long  .') 
I  announce  the  great  individual,  fluid  as  Nature,  chaste, 

aft'ectionaie,  compassionate,  fully  armed. 

^  I  announce  a  life  that  shall  bo  copious,  vehement, 
spiritual,  bold  ; 

I  announce  an  end  that  shall  lightly  and  joyfully  meet 
its  translation  ; 

I  announce  myriads  of  youths,  beautiful,  gigantic,  sweet- 
blooded  ; 

I  announce  a  race  of  splendid  and  savage  old  men. 


'"  0  thicker  and  faster  !  {So  long !) 

0  crowding  too  close  upon  me  ; 

1  foresee  too  much — it  means  more  than  I  thought ; 
It  appears  to  me  I  am  dying. 

"  Hasten  throat,  and  sound  your  last ! 
Salute  me— salute  the  days  once  more.     Peal  the  old 
cry  once  more. 

'^  Screaming  electric,  the  atmosphere  using. 
At  random  glancing,  each  as  I  notice  absorbing, 


Songs  of  Parting.  083 

Svriftly  ou,  but  a  little  -wLile  alighting, 

Curious  envelop'd  messages  delivering, 

Sp:rk]es  liot,  seed  ctlaereal,  down  in  the  dii't  dropping, 

Myself  unknowing,  my  commission  obeying,  to  question 

it  never  daring, 
To  ages,  and  ages  jet,  the  grovvth  of  the  seed  leaving, 
To  troops  out  of  me,  out  of  the  army,  the  war  arising — 

they  the  tasks  I  have  set  promulging. 
To  women  certain  whispers  of  myself  bequeathing — 

their  affection  me  more  clearly  explaining. 
To  young  men  my  problems  offering — no  dallier  I — I 

the  muscle  of  their  brains  trying, 
So  I  pass — a  little  time  vocal,  visible,  contrary  ; 
Afterward,  a  melodious  echo,  passionately  bent  for — 

(death  making  me  realiy  undying  ;) 
The  best  of  me  then  when  no  longer  visible — for  toward 

that  I  have  been  incessantly  preparing. 

'•*  What  is  there  more,  that  I  lag  and  pause,  and  crouch 

extended  with  unshut  mouth  ? 
Is  there  a  sinaie  final  farewell  ? 


"  My  songs  cease — I  abandon  them  ; 
From  behind  the  screen  where  I  hid,  I  advance  person- 
ally, solely  to  you. 

'^  Camerado  !  This  is  no  book  ; 
"Who  touches  this,  touches  a  man  ; 
(Is  it  night  ?  Are  we  here  alone  ?) 
It  is  I  you  hold,  and  who  holds  you  ; 
I  spring  from  the  pages  into  youi*  arms — decease  calls 
me  forth. 

^^  O  how  your  fingers  drowse  me ! 

Your  breath  falls  around  me  like  dew — your  pulse  lulls 

the  tympans  of  my  ears  ; 
I  feel  immerged  from  head  to  foot ; 
Delicious — enough. 


334  Le-wej  of  Grass. 

"  Enougla,  0  deed  impromptu  and  secret ! 
Enough,   O   gliding-  present !    Euougli,   O  ciimni'd-up 
past ! 


'^  D3ar  friend,  "\;vlioever  you  are,  take  this  kiss, 
I  give  it  especially  to  you — Do  not  forget  me  ; 
I  feel  like  one  "^'lio  has  done  work  for  the  day,  to  retire 

awhile  ; 
I  recaive  now  again  of  my  many  translations — from  my 

avataras  ascending — while  others  doubtless  await 

me  ; 
An  unknown  sphere,  more  real  than  I  dream'd,  more 

direct,  darts  awakening  rays  about  me — So  long  ! 
Remember  my  words — I  may  again  return, 
I  love  you — I  dej)art  from  materials  ; 
I  am  as  one  disembodied,  triumphant,  dead. 


Adverttsemknt. 

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PASSAGE 


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•         » 


OH,  J.   SULLIVAN, 

Oh,  J.  Sullivan  !    Oh,  J.  L.  Sullivan  ! 

Oh,  John  Lycurgus  Sullivan,  all  hail !  ! 

Thou  bottomless  infinitude  !  Thou  god  !  Thou 
you  ! 

Thou  Zeus  with  all-compelling  Land  ! 

Thou  glor}'  of  the  mighty  Occident !  Thou 
Heaven-born  ! 

Thou  Athens-bred  !  Thou  light  of  the  Acrop- 
olis !     Thou  son  of  a  gambolier  ! 

Fifty-nine  inches  art  thou  round  thy  ribs ; 
twice  twain  knuckles  hast  thou,  and 
again  twice  twain. 

Thou  scatterest  men's  teeth  like  antelopes  at 
play. 

Thou  straightenest  thine  arm,  and  systems 
rock  and  eye-balls  change  their  hue. 

Oh,  thou  grim  granulator !  Thou  soul-re- 
mover !     Thou  lightsome  excoriator ! 

Thou  cooing  dove  !     Thou  droll,  droll  John  ! 

Thou  buster ! 

Oh,  you  !     Oh,  me,  too  !     Oh,  me  some  morei 

Oh,  thunder !  !  ! 

—  Walt  Whitman  {per  J.  P.  L.),  in  "  Life's 
Verses." 


n 


Leaves  of  Gbass. 


PASSAGE 


to 


Gliding  o'er  ail,  through  all. 
Through  Nature,  Time,  and  Space, 
As  a  Skip  on  the  loatcrs  advancing. 
The  Voyage  of  the  Soul — not  Life  alone, 
Death — many  Deaths,  I  ^ing. 


Washington,  D.  C. 

1871. 

See  Advertisement  at  end  of  this  Voliune. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1 8  70,  by 

WALT  WHITMAN, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


Eleclrotyped  by  Smith  &  McDougal,  Sj  Bcekman  Street,  New  York, 


COMTBMTS. 


PAGE 

Passage  to  India 5 

Thought 16 

O  Living  Always — Always  Dying ■ 16 

Proud  Music  of  The  Storm It 

Ashes  of  Soldiers. 

Ashes  of  Soldiers 23 

In  Midnight  Sleep .• 3T 

Camps  of  Green 28 

To  a  Certain  Civilian 29 

Pensive  on  Her  Dead  Gazing,  I  Heard  the  Mother  of  All 29 

President  Lincoln's  Burial  Htbhst.  ^ 

When  Lilacs  Last  in  the  Door-yard  Bloom'd 31  v^ 

O  Captain  1  My  Captain  1 41 

Hush'd  be  the  Camps  To-day 42 

This  Dust  was  Once  the  Man 42 

Poem  of  Joys 43 

To  Think  of  Time ...  53 

Chanting  the  Square  Deific GO 

Whispers  of  Heavenlt  Death. 

Whispers  of  Heavenly  Death 63 

Darest  Thou  Now,  O  Soul 64 

Of  Him  I  Love  Day  and  Night 64 

Assurances 65 

Yet,  Yet,  Ye  Downcast  Hours 66 

Quicksand  Years 67 

That  Music  Always  Round  Me 67 

As  if  a  Phantom  Caress'd  Me 68 

Here,  Sailor 68 

A  Noiseless  Patient  Spider 09 

The  Last  Invocation 69 

As  I  Watch'd  the  Ploughman  Ploughing 70 

Pensive  and  Faltering 70 

Sea-Shore  Memories.  / 

Out  of  the  Cradle  Endlessly  Eocking 71'^ 

Elemental  Drifts 78 

Tears 82 

Aboard  at  a  Ship's  Helm 82 

On  the  Beach  at  Night 83 

The  World  Below  the  Brine 84 

On  the  Beach  at  Night,  Alone '  85 


iv  Contexts. 

Leaves  of  Grass.  tage 

A  Carol  of  Harvest  for  18G7 87 

The  Singer  in  the  Prison 94 

Warble  for  Lilac-Time f)6 

Who  Learns  My  Lesson  Complete  ? 93 

Thought (>9 

Myself  and  Mine 100 

To  Old  Age 101 

Miracles 103 

Sparkles  from  The  Wheel 103 

Excelsior 104 

Mediums 105 

Kosmos ■. .     lOli 

To  a  Pupil 106 

What  am  I,  After  All  ? 107 

Others  may  Praise  what  They  Like 107 

Brother  of  All,  with  Generous  Hand 108 

Night  on  The  Prairies Ill 

On  Journeys  Through  The  States 112 

Savantism 11.3 

Locations  and  Times 113 

Thought Ii3 

Offerings 113 

Tests. 114 

The  Torch 114 

Gods ll.-S 

To  One  Shortly  to  Die 110 

Lessons IIG 

Now  Finale  to  the  Shoee. 

Now  Finale  to  the  Shore 117 

Shut  Not  Your  Doors,  &c 117 

Thought 118 

The  TJntold  Want 118 

Portals 119 

These  Carols 119 

This  Day,  O  Soul 119 

What  Place  is  Besieged  ? 119 

To  the  Reader,  at  Parting 120 

Joy,  Shipmate,  Joy! ....120 


Leaves  of  Grass. 


Passage  to  India. 


'  Singing  my  clays, 

Singing  tlie  great  achievements  of  the  present, 

Singing  the  strong,  Hght  works  of  engineers. 

Our  modern  wonders,  (the  antique  ponderous  Seven 

outvied,) 
In  the  Old  World,  the  east,  the  Suez  canal. 
The  New  by  its  mighty  raili'oad  spann'd, 
The  seas  inlaid  with  eloquent,  gentle  wires, 
I  sound,  to  commence,  the  cry,  with  thee,  O  soul, 
The  Past !  the  Past !  the  Past ! 

^  The  Past !  the  dark,  unfathom'd  retrospect ! 

The  teeming  gulf !  the  sleepers  and  the  shadows ! 

The  past !  the  infinite  greatness  of  the  past ! 

For  what  is  the  present,  after  all,  but  a  growth  out  of 

the  past  ? 
(As  a  projectile,  form'd,  impell'd,  passing  a  certain  line, 

still  keeps  on. 
So  the  present,  utterly  form'd,  impell'd  by  the  past.) 


^  Passage,  O  soul,  to  India ! 

Eclaircise  the  myths  Asiatic — the  primitive  fables. 

*  Not  you  alone,  proud  truths  of  the  world ! 

Nor  you  alone,  ye  facts  of  modern  science ! 

But  myths  and  fables  of  eld — Asia's,  Afi-ica's  fables  ! 


6  Leaves  or  Geass.  . 

The   far-darting   beams   of   the   spirit ! — the   unloos'd 

dreams ! 
The  deep  diving  bibles  and  legends  ; 
The  daring  plots  of  the  poets — the  elder  rehgions  ; 
— O  you  temples  fairer  than  hlies,  poui''d  over  by  the 

rising  sun ! 
O  you  fables,  spurning  the  known,  eluding  the  hold  of 

the  known,  mounting  to  heaven ! 
You  lofty  and  dazzling  towers,  pinnacled,  red  as  roses, 

burnish'd  with  gold ! 
Towers    of    fables    immortal,    fashion'd    fi'om    mortal 

dreams ! 
You  too  I  welcome,  and  fully,  the  same  as  the  rest ; 
You  too  with  joy  I  sing. 


^  Passage  to  India ! 

Lo,  soul!  seest  thou  not  God's  purpose  from  the  first? 
The  earth  to  be  spann'd,  connected  by  net-work. 
The  people  to  become  brothers  and  sisters, 
The  races,  neighbors,  to  marry  and  be  given  in  mar- 
riage. 
The  oceans  to  be  cross' d,  the  distant  brought  near, 
The  lands  to  be  welded  together. 

"  (A  worship  new,  I  sing  ; 

You  caj^tains,  voyagers,  explorers,  yours ! 

You  engineers  !  you  architects,  machinists,  yours  ! 

You,  not  for  trade  or  transportation  only, 

But  in  God's  name,  and  for  thy  sake,  O  soul.) 


'  Passage  to  India  ! 
Lo,  soul,  for  thee,  of  tableaus  twain, 
I  see,  in  one,  the  Suez  canal  initiated,  open'd, 
I  see  the  procession  of  steamships,  the  Empress  Euge- 
nie's leading  the  van  ; 
I  mark,  from  on  deck,  the  strange  landscape,  the  pure 
sky,  the  level  sand  in  the  distance  ; 


Passage  to  IiroiA.  7 

I  pass  swiftly  the  picturesque   grouj)f=«,  the  workmen 

gather'd, 
The  gigantic  dredging  machines. 

^  In  one,  again,  different,  (yet  thine,  all  thine,  O  soul, 
the  same,) 

I  see  over  my  own  continent  the  Pacific  Eaih'oad,  sur- 
mounting every  barrier  ; 

I  see  continual  trains  of  ears  winding  along  the  Platte, 
carrying  fi*eight  and  passengers  ; 

I  hear  the  locomotives  rushing  and  roaring,  and  the 
shrill  steam- whistle, 

I  hear  the  echoes  reverberate  through  the  gTandest 
scenery  in  the  world  ; 

I  cross  the  Laramie  plains — I  note  the  rocks  in  gro- 
tesque shapes — the  buttes  ; 

I  see  the  plentiful  larkspur  and  wild  onions — the  bar- 
ren, colorless,  sage-deserts  ; 

I  see  in  glimpses  afar,  or  towering  immediately  above 
me,  the  great  mountains — I  see  the  Wind  Kiver 
and  the  Wahsatch  mountains  ; 

I  see  the  Monument  mountain  and  the  Eagle's  Nest — 
I  pass  the  Promontory — I  ascend  the  Nevadas  ; 

I  scan  the  noble  Elk  mountain,  and  wind  around  its 
base  ; 

I  see  the  Humboldt  range — I  thread  the  valley  and 
cross  the  river, 

I  see  the  clear  waters  of  Lake  Tahoe — I  see  forests  of 
majestic  pines, 

Or,  crossing  the  great  desert,  the  alkaline  plains,  I  be- 
hold enchanting  mirages  of  waters  and  meadows  ; 

Marking  through  these,  and  after  all,  in  duplicate  slen- 
der lines. 

Bridging  the  three  or  four  thousand  miles  of  land 
travel. 

Tying  the  Eastern  to  the  Western  sea, 

The  road  between  Europe  and  Asia. 

'  (Ah  Genoese,  thy  di'eam  !  thy  dream  ! 
Ce'ntuiies  after  thou  art  laid  in  thy  grave. 
The  shore  thou  foundest  verifies  thy  dream !) 


8  Leaves  or  Gkass 

5 

'"  Passage  to  India  ! 

Struggles  of  many  a  captain — tales  of  many  a  sailor 

dead ! 
Over  my  mood,  stealing  and  spreading  they  come. 
Like  clouds  and  cloudlets  in  the  unreach'd  sky. 

"  Along  all  history,  do-wn  the  slopes, 

As  a  rivulet  running,  sinking  now,  and  now  again  to 

the  surface  rising, 
A  ceaseless  thought,  a  varied  train — Lo,  soul !  to  thee, 

thy  sight,  they  rise, 
The  plans,  the  voyages  again,  the  expeditions  : 
Again  Vasco  de  Gama  sails  forth  ; 
Again  the  knowledge  gain'd,  the  mariner's  compass. 
Lands  found,  and  nations  born — thou  born,  America, 

(a  hemisphere  unborn,) 
For  purpose  vast,  man's  long  probation  fill'd, 
Thou,  rondure  of  the  world,  at  last  accomplish'd. 

6 

^^  O,  vast  Rondure,  swimming  in  space  i 

Cover'd  all  over  with  visible  power  and  beauty  ! 

Alternate  light  and  day,  and  the  teeming,  spiritual 
darkness  ; 

Unspeakable,  high  processions  of  sun  and  moon,  and 
countless  stars,  above  ; 

Below,  the  manifold  grass  and  waters,  animals,  moun- 
tains, trees  ; 

With  inscrutable  purpose — some  hidden,  prophetic 
intention  ; 

Now,  first,  it  seems,  my  thought  begins  to  span  thee. 

"  Down  from  the  gardens  of  Asia,  descending,  radiat- 
ing, 

Adam  and  Eve  appear,  then  their  myriad  progeny  after 
them, 

Wanderino-,  yearning,  curious — with  restless  explo- 
rations. 


Passage  to  India.  9 

Witli   questionings,   baffled,    formless,    feverisli — with 

nevei'-happy  hearts, 
"With  that  sad,  incessant  i^efrain.  Wherefore,    unsatisfied 

Soul?   and,  Wliilher,  0  moclcing  Life ? 

"  Ah,  who  shall  soothe  these  feverish  children  ? 

"Who  justify  these  restless  explorations  ? 

Who  speak  the  secret  of  impassive  Earth  ? 

Who  bind  it  to  us  ?     What  is  this  separate  Kature,  so 

unnatural  ? 
AVhat  is  this  Earth,  to  our  affections  ?  (unloving  earth, 

without  a  throb  to  answer  ours  ; 
Cold  earth,  the  place  of  graves.) 

'^  Yet,  soul,  be  sure  the  first  intent  remains — and  shall 

be  carried  out ; 
(Perhaps  even  now  the  time  has  arrived.) 

"'  After  the  seas  are  all  cross'd,  (as  they  seem  already 

cross'd,) 
After  the  great  captains  and  engineers  have  accomplish'd 

their  work, 
After   the    noble   inventors — after  the    scientists,    the 

chemist,  the  geologist,  ethnologist. 
Finally  shall  come  the  Poet,  worthy  that  name  ; 
The  true  Son  of  God  shall  come,  singing  his  songs. 

"  Then,  not  your  deeds  only,  O  voyagers,  O  scientists 

and  inventors,  shall  be  justified, 
All  these  hearts,  as  of  fi'etted  children,  shall  be  sooth' d. 
All  affection  shall   be   fully  responded  to — the  secret 

shall  be  told  ; 
All  these  separations  and  gaps  shall  be  taken  up,  and 

hook'd  and  link'd  together  ; 
The  whole  Earth — this  cold,  impassive,  voiceless  Earth, 

shall  be  completely  justified  ; 
Trinitas   divine   shall  be   gloriously   accomplish'd  and 

compacted  by  the  true  Son  of  God,  the  poet, 
(He   shall  indeed  pass   the    straits   and   conquer   the 

mountains. 


10  Leaves  of  Grass- 

He  shall  double  tlie  Cape  of  Good  Hope  to  some  pur- 
pose ;) 
Natui-e  and  Man  shall  be  disjoin'd  and  diffused  no  more, 
The  true  Son  of  God  shall  absolutely  fuse  them. 


'^  Year  at  whose  open'd,  wide-flung  door  I  sing ! 

Year  of  the  purpose  accomplish'd  ! 

Year    of    the   marriage   of    continents,    climates    and 

oceans ! 
(No  mere  Doge  of  Venice  now,  wedding  the  Adriatic  ;) 
I  see,  O  year,  in  you,  the  vast  terraqueous  globe,  given, 

and  giving  ail, 
Europe   to  Asia,    Africa  join'd,   and   they  to  the  New 

AVorld  ; 
The  lands,  geographies,  dancing  before  you,  holding  a 

festival  garland. 
As  brides  and  bridegTOoms  hand  in  hand. 


'®  Passage  to  India ! 

Cooling  airs  from  Caucasus  far,  soothing  cradle  of  man, 

The  river  Euphrates  flowing,  the  past  lit  up  again. 

*"  Lo,  soul,  the  retrospect,  brought  forward  ; 

The  old,  most  populous,  wealthiest  of  Earth's  lands, 

The  streams  of  the  Indus  and  the  Ganges,  and  their 

many  affluents  ; 
(I,  my  shores  of  America  v/alting  to-day,  behold,  resum- 
ing all,) 
The  tale  of  Alexander,  on  his  warlike  marches,  suddenly 

dying. 
On  one  side  China,  and  on  the  other  side  Persia  and 

Arabia, 
To  the  south  the  great  seas,  and  the  Bay  of  Bengal ; 
The   flowing   literatures,   tremendous   epics,    religions, 

castes, 
Old  occult  Brahma,   interminably  far  back — the  tender 

and  junior  Buddha, 
Central  and  southern  empires,  and  all  their  belongings, 

possessors, 


Passage  to  India.  11 

The  wars  of  Tamerlane,  tlie  reign  of  Auruiigzebe, 
The    traders,    rulei's,    explorers,    Moslems,    Venetians, 

Byzantium,  the  Arabs,  Portuguese, 
The   first  travelers,   famous  yet,  Marco  Polo,  Batouta 

the  Moor, 
Doubts  to   be  solv'd,  the  map  incognita,  blanks  to  be 

fill'd. 
The  foot  of  man  uustay'd,  the  hands  never  at  rest, 
Thyself,  O  soul,  that  will  not  brook  a  challenge. 

9 

-'  The  medieval  navigators  rise  before  me. 

The  world  of  1492,  with  its  awahen'd  enterprise  ; 

Something   swelhng  in  humanity  now  like  the  sap  of 

the  earth  in  spring, 
The  sunset  splendor  of  chivalry  declining. 

^'  And  who  art  thou,  sad  shade  ? 
Gigantic,  visionary,  thyself  a  visionary, 
With  majestic  limbs,  and  pious,  beaming  eyes, 
Sx^reading  around,  with  every  look  of  thine,  a  golden 

world, 
Enhuing  it  with  gorgeous  hues. 

^^  As  the  chief  histrion, 

Down  to  the  footlights  walks,  in  some  great  scena, 

Dominating  the  rest,  I  see  the  Admiral  himself, 

(History's  type  of  coiu'age,  action,  faith  ;) 

Behold  him  sail  from  Palos,  leading  his  little  fleet ; 

His  voyage  behold — his  return— his  great  fame, 

His  misfortunes,  calumniators — behold  him  a  prisoner, 

chain'd. 
Behold  his  dejection,  povert}^,  death. 

•■*  (Curious,   in   time,   I   stand,  noting    the    efforts   of 

heroes  ; 
Is  the  deferment   long?   bitter   the   slander,   poverty, 

death  ? 
Lies  the  seed  unreck'd  for  centuries  in  the  ground? 

Lo  !  to  Grod's  due  occasion, 


12  Leaves  oe  Grass. 

Uprising  in  the  night,  it  sprouts,  blooms. 
And  fills  the  earth  v/ith  use  and  beauty.) 

10 

"'  Passage  indeed,  O  soul,  to  primal  thought ! 
Not  lands  and  seas  alone — thy  own  clear  freshness, 
The  young  maturity  of  brood  and  bloom  ; 
To  realms  of  budding  bibles. 

^"^  O  soul,  reprcssless,  I  v/ith  thee,  and  thou  with  me. 

Thy  circumnavigation  of  the  v.'orld  begin  ; 

Of  man,  the  voyage  of  his  mind's  retiu-n, 

To  reason's  early  paradise, 

Back,  back  to  wisdom's  birth,  to  innocent  intuitions, 

Again  with  fair  Creation. 

11 

"'  O  we  can  w"ait  no  longer  ! 

"We  too  take  ship,  O  soul ! 

Joyous,  we  too  launch  out  on  trackless  seas  ! 

Fearless,  for  unknown  shores,  on  waves  of  extasy  to 

sail, 
Amid  the  wafting  winds,  (thou  pressing  me  to  thee,  I 

thee  to  me,  O  soul,) 
Caroling  free — singing  our  song  of  God, 
Chanting  our  chant  of  pleasant  exploration. 

'^  With  laugh,  and  many  a  kiss, 

(Let  others  deprecate — let  others  weep  for  sin,  remorse, 

humiliation  ;) 
O  soul,  thou  pleasest  me — I  thee. 

^^  Ah,  more  than  any  priest,  O  soul,  we  too  believe  in 

God  ; 
But  with  the  mystery  of  God  we  dare  not  dally. 

^°  O  soul,  thou  pleasest  me — I  thee  ; 
Sailing  these  seas,  or  on  the  hills,  or  wakmg  in  the 
night, 


Passage  to  India.  13 

Thoughts,   silent  thoughts,   of   Time,   and  Space,   and 

Death,  Hke  v/aters  flowing. 
Bear  me,  indeed,  as  through  the  regions  infinite, 
TVIiose  aii'  I  breathe,  whose  ripples  hear — lave  me  all 

over  ; 
Bathe  me,  O  God,  in  thee — mounting  to  thee, 
I  and  my  soul  to  range  in  range  of  thee, 

^'  O  Thou  transcendant ! 

Nameless — the  fibre  and  the  breath  ! 

Light  of  the  light — shedding  forth  universes — thou 
centre  of  them  ! 

Thou  mightier  centre  of  the  true,  the  good,  the  loving ! 

Thou  moral,  spu*itual  fountain !  affection's  source  !  thou 
reservoir  ! 

(0  pensive  soul  of  me !  O  thirst  unsatisfied !  waitest  not 
there  ? 

Waitest  not  haply  for  us,  somewhere  there,  the  Com- 
rade perfect  ?) 

Thou  pulse  !  thou  motive  of  the  stars,  suns,  systems, 

That,  ch'cling,  move  in  order,  safe,  hai'monious, 

Athwart  the  shapeless  vastnesses  of  space  ! 

How  should  I  think — how  breathe  a  single  breath — 
how  speak — if,  out  of  myself, 

I  could  not  launch,  to  those,  superior  universes  ? 

^-  Swiftly  I  shrivel  at  the  thought  of  God, 

At  Nature  and  its  wonders.  Time  and  Space  and  Death, 

But  that  I,  turning,  call  to  thee,  O  soul,  thou  actual  Me, 

And  lo  !  thou  gently  masterest  the  orbs, 

Thou  matest  Time,  smilest  content  at  Death, 

And  fiUest,  sweUest  full,  the  vastnesses  of  S^Dace. 

"^  Greater  than  stars  or  suns. 
Bounding,  O  soul,  thou  journeyest  forth  ; 
— What  love,  than  thine  and  ours  could  wider  amplify? 
What  aspirations,  wishes,  outvie  thine  and  ours,  O  soul  ? 
What  dreams  of  the  ideal  ?  what  plans  of  purity,  per- 
fection, strength  ? 


14  LezVYEs  of  Gkass. 

What  clieerful  willingness,  for  otliers'  sake,  to  give  up 

all  ? 
For  others'  sake  to  suffer  all  ? 

^*  Reckoning    ahead,   O    soul,   when    thou,    the    time 

achiev'd. 
(The  seas  all  cross'd,  weather'd  the  capes,  the  voyage 

done,) 
Surrounded,   copest,  frontest   God,   yieldest,  the   aim 

attain'd. 
As,  fiU'd    with   friendship,   love   complete,  the   Elder 

Brother  found, 
The  Younger  melts  in  fondness  in  his  arms. 

12 

^^  Passage  to  more  than  India  ! 
Are  thy  Y»'ings  plumed  indeed  for  such  far  flights  ? 
O  Soul,  voyagest  thou  indeed  on  voyages  like  these  ? 
Disj^ortest  thou  on  waters  such  as  these  ? 
Soundest  below  the  Sanscrit  and  the  Vedas  ? 
Then  have  thy  bent  unleash'd. 

^^  Passage  to  you,  your  shores,  ye  aged  fierce  enigmas ! 
Passage  to  you,  to  mastership  of  you,  ye  strangling 

problems ! 
You,  strew'd  with  the  wrecks  of  skeletons,  that,  living, 

never  reach'd  you. 

13 

^^  Passage  to  more  than  India  ! 

O  secret  of  the  earth  and  sky  ! 

Of  you,  O  waters  of  the  sea !   O  winding  creeks  and 

rivers ! 
Of  you,  O  woods  and  fields  !  Of  you,  strong  mountains 

of  my  land ! 
Of  you,  O  prairies  !  Of  you,  gray  rocks ! 
O  morning  red  !  O  clouds  !  0  rain  and  snows  ! 
O  day  and  night,  passage  to  you  ! 


Passage  to  Ihdia.  15 

^^  O  sun  and   moon,  and   all   you  stars !     Sh'ius  and 

Jupiter ! 
Passage  to  you ! 

^"  Passage — immediate  passage  !  the  blood  b'orns  in  my 

veins ! 
Away,  0  soul !  hoist  instantly  the  anchor  ! 
Cut  the  hawsers — haul  out — shake  out  every  sail ! 
Have  we  not  stood  here  like  trees  in  the  ground  long 

enough  ? 
Have  we  not  grovell'd  here  long  enough,  eating  and 

drinking  like  mere  brutes  ? 
Have  we  not  darken'd  and  dazed  ourselves  with  books 

long  enough  ? 

'"'  Sail  forth  !  steer  for  the  deep  waters  only ! 
Reckless,  O  soul,  exploring,  I  with  thee,  and  thou  with 

me  ; 
For  we  are  bound  where  mariner  has  not  yet  dared  to 

go, 
And  we  vv^ill  risk  the  ship,  ourselves  and  all. 

*'  O  my  brave  soul ! 

O  farther,  farther  sail ! 

O  daring  joy,  but  safe  !     Ai-e  they  not  all  the  seas  of 

God? 
0  farthei*,  farther,  farther  sail ! 


16  Leaves  of  Grass 


Thought. 

As  I  sit  witli  otlici'S,  at  a  great  feast,  suddenlj,  Trliile 

the  music  is  playing, 
To  my  mind,  (whence  it  comes  I  know  not,)  spectral,  in 

mist,  of  a  wreck  at  sea  ; 
Of  certain  ships — how  they  sail  from  port  with  flying 

streamers,  and  wafted  kisses — aud  that  is  the 

last  of  them ! 
Of  the  solemn  and  murky  mystery  about  the  fate  of  the 

President ; 
Of  the  flower  of  the  marine  science  of  fifty  generations, 

founder'd   off  the   Northeast  coast,   and   going 

down — Of  the  steamship  Arctic  going  down, 
Of  the  veil'd  tableau — Women   gathered   together  on 

deck,   pale,    heroic,    waiting    the  moment    that 

draws  so  close — O  the  moment ! 
A  huge  sob — A  few  bubbles — the  white  foam  spirting 

up^And  then  the  women  gone. 
Sinking  there,  while  the  passionless  wet  flows  on — And 

I  now  pondering.  Are  those  women  indeed  gone  ? 
Are  Souls  drown'd  and  destroy'd  so  ? 
Is  only  matter  triumphant  ? 


O  Living  Always — Always   Dying  ! 

O  LIVING  always — always  dying  ! 

O  the  burials  of  me,  past  and  present ! 

O  me,  while  I  stride  ahead,  material,  visible,  imperious 

as  ever ! 
O  me,  what  I  was  for  years,  now  dead,  (I  lament  not — 

I  am  content ;) 
O  to  disengage  myself  from  those  corpses  of  me,  which 

I  turn  and  look  at,  whei'e  I  cast  them ! 
To  pass  on,  (0  hving!   always  lining!)    and  leave  the 

corpses  behind ! 


Leaves  of  Gbass. 


Proud  Music  of  the  Storm, 


'  Peoud  music  of  the  storm ! 

Blast  that  careers  so  free,  whisth'ng  across  the  prairies ! 

Strong  hum  of  forest  tree-tops !  Wind  of  the  moun- 
tains ! 

Personified  dim.  shapes  !  you  hidden  orchestras ! 

You  serenades  of  phantoms,  with  instruments  alert. 

Blending,  with  Nature's  rhythmus,  all  the  tongues  of 
nations  ; 

You  chords  left  as  by  vast  composers  !  you  choruses ! 

You  formless,  free,  religious  dances !  you  fi'om  the 
Orient ! 

You  undertone  of  rivers,  roar  of  poui'ing  cataracts  ; 

You  sounds  from  distant  guns,  with  galloping  cavalry ! 

Echoes  of  camps,  with  all  tbe  different  bugle-calls ! 

Trooping  tumultuous,  filling  the  midnight  late,  bending 
me  powerless. 

Entering  my  lonesome  slumber-chamber — Why  have 
you  seiz'd  me  ? 


^  Come  forward,  O  my  Soul,  and  let  the  rest  retire  ; 
Listen — lose  not — it  is  toward  thee  they  tend  ; 
Parting  the  midnight,  entering  my  slumber-chamber, 
For  thee  they  sing  and  dance,  0  Soul. 


18  Passage  to  India. 

^  A  festival  song ! 

The  duet  of  the  bridegroom  and  the  bride — a  marriage- 
march, 

With  lips  of  love,  and  hearts  of  lovers,  fill'd  to  the  brim 
with  love  ; 

The  red-flush'd  cheeks,  and  perfumes  —  the  cortege 
swarming,  full  of  friendly  faces,  young  and  old, 

To  flutes'  clear  notes,  and  sounding  harps'  cantabile. 


^  Now  loud  approaching  drums ! 

Victoria  !  see'st  thou  in  powder-smoke  the  banners  torn 

but  flying  ?  the  rout  of  the  baffled  ? 
Hearest  those  shouts  of  a  conquering  army  ? 

^  (Ah,  Soul,  the  sobs  of  women — the  wounded  groaning 

in  agony. 
The  hiss  and  crackle  of  flames — the  blacken'd  ruins — 

the  embers  of  cities, 
The  dirge  and  desolation  of  mankind.) 


^  Now  airs  antique  and  medieval  fill  me ! 

I  see  and  hear  old  harpers  with  their  harps,  at  Welsh 

festivals  : 
I  hear  the  minnesingers,  singing  their  lays  of  love, 
I  hear  the  minstrels,  gleemen,  troubadours,  of  the  feudal 

ages. 


'  Now  the  great  organ  sounds. 

Tremulous — while  underneath,  (as  the  hid  footholds  of 

the  earth. 
On  which  arising,  rest,  and  leaping  forth,  depend. 
All  shapes  of  beauty,  gTace  and  strength — all  hues  we 

know. 
Green  blades  of  grass,  and  warbling  birds — childi'en 

that  gambol   and  play — the  clouds   of  heaven 

above,) 


Proud  Music  of  the  Stokm.  19 

The  strong  base  stands,  and  its  pulsations  intermits 

not, 
Batliing,  supporting,  merging  all  tlie  rest — maternity 

of  all  the  rest ; 
And  with  it  every  instrument  in  multitudes, 
The  players  playing — all  the  world's  musicians, 
The  solemn  hymns  and  masses,  rousing  adoration, 
All  passionate  heart-chants,  sorrowful  appeals. 
The  measureless  sweet  vocalists  of  ages. 
And  for  their  solvent  setting,  Earth's  own  diapason. 
Of  winds  and  woods  and  mighty  ocean  waves  ; 
A  new  composite  orchestra — binder  of  years  and  climes 

— ten-fold  renewer. 
As  of  the  far-baclc  days  the  poets  tell — the  Paradiso, 
The  straying  thence,  the  separation  long,  but  now  the 

wandering  done. 
The  journey  done,  the  Journeyman  come  home, 
And  Man  and  Art,  with  Nature  fused  again. 

6 

*  Tutti !  for  Earth  and  Heaven  ! 

The  Almighty  Leader  now  for  me,  for  once,  has  sigTial'd 
with  his  wand. 

*  The  manly  strophe  of  the  husbands  of  the  world. 
And  all  the  wives  responding. 

'"  The  tongues  of  vioHns  ! 

(I  think,  O  tongues,  ye  tell  this  heart,  that  cannot  tell 

itself  ; 
This  brooding,  yearning  heart,  that  cannot  tell  itself.) 


"  Ah,  from  a  little  child. 

Thou  knowest.   Soul,  how  to  me  all'  sounds   became 

music  ; 
My  mother's  voice,  in  lullaby  or  hymn  ; 
(The  voice — O  tender  voices — memory's  loving  voices  ! 
Last  miracle  of  all — O  dearest  mother's,  sister's,  voices;) 


20  Passage  to  India. 

The   rain,  the   growing   corn,  the  breeze   amor^g   the 

long-leav'd  corn, 
The  measur'd  sea-surf,  beating  on  the  sand, 
The  twittering  bird,  the  hawk's  sharp  scream. 
The  wild-fowl's  notes  at  night,  as  flying  low,  migrating 

north  or  south. 
The  psalm  in  the  country  church,  or  mid  the  clustering 

trees,  the  open  air  camp-meeting, 
The   fiddler  in  the  tavern — the  glee,  the   long-strung 

sailor-song. 
The  lowing  cattle,  bleating  sheep^the  crowing  cock  at 

dawn. 

8 

'-  All  songs  of  current  lands  come  sounding  'round  me. 
The  German  airs  of  friendship,  wine  and  love, 
Irish  ballads,  merry  jigs  and  dances — English  warbles, 
Chansons  of  France,  Scotch  tunes — and  o'er  the  rest, 
Italia's  peerless  compositions. 

'■^  Across  the  stage,  with  pallor  on  her  face,  yet  lurid 

passion. 
Stalks  Norma,  brandishing  the  dagger  in  her  hand. 

"  I  see  poor  crazed  Lucia's  eyes'  unnatural  gleam  ; 
Her  hair  down  her  back  falls  loose  and  dishevell'd. 

'^  I  see  where  Ernani,  walking  the  bridal  garden. 
Amid  the  scent  of   night-roses,  radiant,   holding  his 

bride  by  the  hand. 
Hears  the  infernal  call,  the  death-pledge  of  the  horn. 

'"  To  crossing  swords,  and  grey  hairs  bared  to  heaven, 
The  clear,  electric  base  and  baritone  of  the  world. 
The  trombone  duo — Libertad  forever  ! 

"  From  Spanish  chestnut  trees'  dense  shade. 

By  old  and  heavy  convent  walls,  a  wailing  song. 

Song  of  lost  love — the  torch  of  youth  and  life  quench'd 

in  despair. 
Song  of  the  dying  swan — Fernando's  heart  is  breaking. 


Peoud  Music  of  the  Stoem.  21 

'^  Awaking'  fi-om  lier  woes  at  last,  retriev'd  Amina 
sings  ; 

Copious  as  stars,  and  glad  as  morning  light,  tlie  tor- 
rents of  her  joy. 

'^  (The  teeming  lady  comes  ! 

The    lustrious    orb — Venus    contralto — the    blooming 

mother,' 
Sister  of  loftiest  gods — Alboni's  self  I  hear.) 

9 

■°  I  hear  those  odes,  symphonies,  operas  ; 

I  hear  in  the  William  Tell,  the  music  of  an  arous'd  and 

angry  people  ; 
I  hear  Meyerbeer's  Huguenots,  the  Prophet,  or  Eohert  ; 
G-ounod's  Faust,  or  Mozart's  I)on  Juan. 

10 

"'  I  hear  the  dance-music  of  all  nations. 

The  waltz,  (some  delicious  measure,  lapsing,  bathing  mo 

in  bliss  ;) 
The  bolero,  to  linHing  gaiitars  and  clattering  castanets. 

"^  I  see  religious  dances  old  and  new, 
I  hear  the  sound  of  the  Hebrew  lyre, 
I  see  the  Crusaders  marching,  bearing  the  cross  on 

high,  to  the  martial  clang  of  cymbals  ; 
I  hear  dervishes  monotonously  chanting,  intersjjers '  d 

with  fi'antic  shouts,  as  they  spin  around,  tiu'ning 

always  towards  Mecca  ; 
I  see  the  rapt  religious  dances  of  the  Persians  and  the 

Arabs ; 
Again,  at  Eleusis,  home  of  Ceres,  I   see  the   modern 

Greeks  dancing, 
I  hear  them  clapping  their  hands,  as  they  bend  their 

bodies, 
I  hear  the  metrical  shufflin^-  of  their  feet. 


22  Passage  to  Ineli. 

**  I  see  again  the  wild  old  Corybantian  dance,  tlie  per- 
formers wounding  each  otlier ; 

I  see  the  Eomau  youth,  to  the  shrill  sound  of  flageolet;', 
throwing  and  catching  their  weapons. 

As  they  fall  on  their  knees,  and  rise  again. 

^*  I  hear  from  the   Mussulman  mosque  the  muezzin 

calling  ; 
I  see  the  worshippers  within,  (nor  form,  nor  sermon, 

argument,  nor  word. 
But   silent,    strange,   devout — rais'd,   glowing  heads — 

extatic  faces.) 

11 

"'  I  hear  the  Egyptian  harp  of  many  strings, 

The  primitive  chants  of  the  Nile  boatmen  ; 

The  sacred  imperial  hymns  of  China, 

To  the  delicate  sounds  of  the  king,  (the  stricken  wood 

and  stone  ;) 
Or  to  Hindu  flutes,  and  the  fretting  twang  of  the  vina, 
A  band  of  bayaderes. 

12 

■^  Now  Asia,  Africa  leave  me — Eui'ope,  seizing,  inflates 
me  ; 

To  organs  huge,  and  bands,  I  hear  as  fi-om  vast  con- 
courses of  voices, 

Luther's  strong  hymn,  Einefesle  Burg  ist  tmscr  Golt ; 

Rossini's  Slabal  Mater  dolorosa  ; 

Or,  floating  in  some  high  cathedi'al  dim,  with  gorgeous 
color'd  windows. 

The  passionate  Agnus  Dei,  or  Gloria  in  Excelsis. 

13 

-'  Composers  !  mighty  maestros  ! 

And  you,  sweet  singers  of  old  lands — Soprani !  Tenori ! 

Bassi ! 
To  you  a  new  bard,  carolling  free  in  the  west, 
Obeisant,  sends  his  love. 


Pkoud  Music  cf  the  Stokm.  £3 

^  (Such  led  to  thee,  0  Soul ! 
All  seuses,  shows  and  objects,  lead  to  thee, 
But   now,  it   seems  to  me,  sound  leads   o'er  all  the 
rest.) 

U 

-^  I  hear  the  annual  singing  of  the  children  in  St.  Paul's 
Cathedral ; 

Or,  under  the  high  roof  of  some  colossal  hall,  the  sym- 
phonies, oratorios  of  Beethoven,  Handel,  or 
Haydn  ; 

The  Creation,  in  billows  of  godhood  laves  me. 

'"  Give  me  to  hold  all  sounds,   (I,  madly  struggling, 

cryJ 
Fill  me  with  all  the  voices  of  the  universe, 
Endow  me  with  their  throbbings — Natui'e's  also. 
The   tempests,    waters,   winds — operas    and    chants — 

marches  and  dances. 
Utter — pour  in — for  I  would  take  them  all. 

15 

"^  Then  I  woke  softly. 

And   pausing,    questioning   awhile   the   music  of    my 

dream. 
And  questioning  all  those  reminiscences — the  tempest 

in  its  fury. 
And  all  the  songs  of  sopranos  and  tenors. 
And  those  rapt  oriental  dances,  of  religious  fervor, 
And  the  sweet  varied  instruments,  and  the  diapason  of 

organs, 
And   all   the   artless   plaints   of    love,   and   grief  and 

death, 
I  said  to  my  silent,  curious  Soul,  out  of  the  bed  of  the 

slumber-chamber. 
Come,  for  I  have  found  the  clue  I  sought  so  long, 
Let  us  go  forth  refresh'd  amid  the  day. 
Cheerfully  tallying  hfe,  walking  the  world,  the  real, 
Nourish'd  henceforth  by  our  celestial  dream. 


24  Passage  to  India. 

"-  And  I  said,  moreover, 

IIa23ly,  wliat  thou  hast  heard,  O  Soul,  was  not  the  souud 

of  winds, 
Nor  dream  of  raging  storm,  nor  sea-hawk's  flapping 

wings,  nor  harsh  scream, 
Nor  vocahsm  of  sun-bright  Italy, 
Nor  German   organ  majestic — nor  vast   concourse  of 

voices — nor  layers  of  harmonies  ; 
Nor  strophes  of  husbands  and  wives — nor  sound  of 

marching  soldiers. 
Nor  flutes,  nor  harps,  nor  the  bugle-calls  of  camps  ; 
But,  to  a  new  rhythmus  fitted  for  thee, 
Poems,  bridging  the  way  fi'om  Life  to  Death,  vaguely 

wafted  in  night  air,  un  caught,  unwritten, 
Which,  let  us  go  forth  in  the  bold  day,  and  write. 


Leaves  of  Grass. 


ASHES  OF  SOLDIERS. 


Again  a  verse  for  sake  of  you, 

You  soldiers  in  the  ranks — you  Volunteers, 

JVJio  bravely  fighting,  silent  fell. 

To  fill  unmention'd  graves. 


ASHES    OF    SOLDIERS. 

'  Ashes  of  soldiers  ! 

As  I  muse,  reti-ospective,  raiTrmuring  a  cliant  in  thouglit, 
Lo!  the  v,'ar  resumes — again  to  my  sense  your  shapes, 
And  again  tlie  advance  of  armies. 

^  Noiseless  as  mists  and  vapors, 
Fi'om  their  graves  in  the  trenches  ascending, 
From  the  cemeteries    ail  through  Virginia  and  Ten- 
nessee, 
From  ever}'  point  of  the  compass,  oiit  of  the  countless 

unnamed  gTaves, 
In  wafted  clouds,  in  myriads  large,  or  squads  of  twos 

or  threes,  or  single  ones,  they  come. 
And  silently  gather  round  me, 

^  Now  sound  no  note,  O  trumpeters ! 

Not  at  the  head  of  my  cavalry,  parading  on  spirited 

horses. 
With   sabres    drawn    and   glist'ning,    and  carbines  by 

their  thighs — (ah,  my  brave  hoi'semen  ! 
2 


26  Passage  to   India. 

My  handsome,  tan-faced  horsemen  !  what  hfe,  what  joy 

and  pride, 
With  all  the  perils,  were  yours  !) 

■*  Nor  you  drummers — neither  at  reveille,  at  dawn. 
Nor  the  long  roll    alarming  the  camp — nor  even  the 

muffled  beat  for  a  burial ; 
Nothing  from  you,  this  time,  O  drummers,  bearing  my 

warlike  drums. 

^  But  aside  from  these,  and  the  marts  of  wealth,  and 

the  crowded  promenade. 
Admitting   around  me  comrades  close,  unseen  by  the 

rest,  and  voiceless, 
The  slain  elate  and  ahve  again — the  dust  and  debris 

alive, 
I  chant  this  chant  of  my  silent  soul,  in  the  name  of  all 

dead  soldiers. 

^  Faces  so  pale,  with  wondrous  eyes,  very  dear,  gather 

closer  yet ; 
Draw  close,  but  speak  not. 

''  Phantoms  of  countless  lost ! 

Invisible  to  the   rest,  henceforth  become  my  compan- 
ions! 
PoUow  me  ever  !  desert  me  not,  while  I  live. 

*  Sweet  are  the  blooming  cheeks  of  the  hving !  sweet 

are  the  musical  voices  sounding! 
Cut  sweet,  ah  sweet,  are  the  dead,  with  their  silent  eyes. 

^  Dearest  comrades !  all  is  over  and  long  gone  ; 
But  love  is  not  over — and  what  love,  O  comrades ! 
Perfume    from    battle-fields   rising  —  up   from    fcetor 
arising. 

^^  Perfume  therefore  my  chant,  0  love  I  immortal  Love  I 
Give  me  to  bathe  the  memories  of  all  dead  soldiers. 
Shroud  them,  embalm  them,   cover  them  all  over  with 
tender  pride. 


Ashes  of  Soldiers.  27 

'^  Perfume  all !  make  all  wholesome  ! 
Make  these  ashes  to  nourish  and  blossom, 
0  love  !  O  chant !  solve  all,  fructify  all  with  the  last 
chemistry, 

'-  Give  me  eshaustless — make  me  a  fountain. 

That  I  exhale  love  from  me  wherever  I  go,  like  a  moist 

perennial  dew. 
For  the  ashes  of  all  dead  soldiers. 


IN  MIDNIGHT  SLEEP. 


In  midnight  sleep,  of  many  a  face  of  anguish, 

Of  the  look  at  first  of  the  mortally  wounded — of  that 

indescribable  look  ; 
Of  the  dead  on  their  backs,  with  arms  extended  wide, 
I  dream,  I  dream,  I  dz-eam. 


Of  scenes  of  nature,  fields  and  mountains  ; 

Of  skies,  so  beauteous  after  a  storm — and  at  night  the 

moon  so  unearthly  bright. 
Shining    sweetly,    shining   down,    where   we   dig    the 

trenches  and  gather  the  heaps, 
I  dream,  I  dream,  I  dream. 


Long,  long  have  they  pass'd — faces  and  trenches  and 

fields  ; 
Where  through  the  carnage  I  moved  with  a  callous  com- 

posiu-e — or  away  from  the  fallen. 
Onward  I  sped  at  the  time — But  now  of  their  forms  at 

night, 
I  dream,  I  dream,  I  dream. 


28  Passage  to  Indu. 


Camps  of  Green. 

'  Not  alone  tliose  camps  of  wliite,  0  soldiers, 
When,  as  orcler'd  forward,  after  a  long  march, 
Footsore   and   yvesbvj,  soon   as   the   light  lessen'd,  we 

halted  for  the  night ; 
Some  of  us  so  fatigued,  carrying  the  gun  and  knapsack, 

dropping  asleep  in  oui'  tracks  ; 
Others  pitching  the  little  tents,  and  the  fires  lit  up 

began  to  sparkle  ; 
Outposts  of  pickets  posted,  surrounding,  alert  through 

the  dark. 
And  a  word  provided  for  countersign,  careful  for  safetj^; 
Till  to  the  call  of  the  cli'ummers  at  daybreak  loudly 

beating  the  drums, 
We  rose  up  refresh'd,  the  night  and  sleep  pass'd  over, 

and  resumed  our  journey. 
Or  proceeded  to  battle. 

-  Lo !  the  camps  of  the  tents  of  green. 

Which  the  days  of  peace  keep  filling,  and  the  days  of 

■war  keep  filling. 
With  a  mystic  army,  (is  it  too  order'd  forward  ?  is  it 

too  only  halting  awhile, 
Till  night  and  sleep  pass  over  ?) 

^  Now  in  those  camps  of  green — in  their  tents  dotting 
the  world  ; 

In  the  parents,  children,  husbands,  wives,  in  them — in 
the  old  and  young. 

Sleeping  under  the  simlight,  sleeping  under  the  moon- 
light, content  and  silent  there  at  last. 

Behold  the  mighty  bivouac-field,  and  waiting-camp  of 
all, 

Of  corps  and  generals  all,  and  the  President  over  the 
corps  and  generals  all, 

And  of  each  of  us,  O  soldiers,  and  of  each  and  all  in 
the  ranks  we  fought, 

(There  without  hatred  we  shall  all  meet.) 


Ashes  of  Soldiers.  29 

*  For  presently,  O  soldiers,  we  too  camp  in  our  place  in 

the  bivouac-camps  of  green  ; 
But  we  need  not  provide  for  outposts,  nor  word  for  tlie 

countersign, 
Nor  drummer  to  beat  tlio  morniuQ-  di'um. 


TO  A  CERTAIN  CIVILIAN. 

Did  you  ask  dulcet  rlijmes  from  me  ? 

Did  you  seek  the  civilian's  peaceful  and  languishing 
rhymes  ? 

Did  you  find  what  I  sang  erewhile  so  hard  to  follow  ? 

Why  I  was  not  singing  erewhile  for  you  to  follow,  to 
understand — nor  am  I  now  ; 

(I  have  been  born  of  the  same  as  the  war  was  born  ; 

The  di'uiii-corps'  harsh  rattle  is  to  me  sweet  music — I 
love  well  the  martial  dirge, 

With  slow  wail,  and  convulsive  thi'ob,  leading  the  offi- 
cer's funeral  :) 

— What  to  such  as  you,  anyhow,  such  a  poet  as  I  ? — 
therefore  leave  my  works. 

And  go  lull  yourself  v/itli  what  you  can  understand — 
and  with  piano-tunes  ; 

For  I  lull  nobody — and  you  vail  never  understand  me. 


PENSIVE  ON  HER  DEAD  GAZING,  I  HEARD  THE 
MOTHER  OF  ALL. 

Pensfv^e,  on  her  dead  gazing,  I  heard  the  Mother  of  All, 

Desperate,  on  the  torn  bodies,  on  the  forms  covering 
the  battle-fields  gazing  ; 

(As  the  last  gun  ceased — but  the  scent  of  the  powder- 
smoke  linger'd  ;) 

As  she  call'd  to  her  earth  with  mournful  voice  while  she 
stalk'd  : 


30  Passage  to  India. 

Absorb  them  well,  O  my  eartl],  she  cried — I  ebarge  you, 

lose  not  my  sons  !  lose  not  an  atom  ; 
And  you  streams,  absorb  them  well,  taking  their  dear 

blood  ; 
And  you  local  spots,  and  you  airs  that  swim  above 

hghtly, 
And  all  you  essences  of  soil  and  growth — and  you,  my 

rivers'  depths  ; 
And  you,  mountain  sides — and  the  woods  where  my 

dear  children's  blood,  trickling,  reddcu'd  ; 
And  you  trees,  down  in  your  roots,  to  bequeath  to  all 

futui-e  trees. 
My  dead   absorb — my  youDg  men's   beautiful   bodies 

absorb — and  their  precious,  i:>recious,  precious 

blood  ; 
Which  holding  in  trust  for  me,  faithfully  back  again 

give  me,  many  a  year  hence, 
In  unseen  essence  and  odor  of  surface  and  grass,  centu- 
ries hence  ; 
In  blowing  airs  from  the  fields,  back  again  give  mo  my 

darlings — give  my  immortal  heroes  ; 
Exhale   me   them   centuries  hence — breathe  me  their 

breath — let  not  an  atom  be  lost  ; 
O  years  and  graves !   O  air  and  soil !  O  my  dead,  an 

aroma  sweet ! 
Exhale  them  perennial,  sv/eet  death,  years,  centuries 

hence. 


Leaves  of  Grass. 


President  Lincoln's  Burial 

Hymn. 


WHEN    LILACS    LAST    IN    THE    DOOR- 
YARD    BLOOM'D. 


'  When  lilacs  last  in  the  door-yard  bloom'd, 

And  the  great  star  early  droop'd  in  the  western,  sky  in 

the  night, 
I  moiu'n'd — and  yet  shall  mourn  with  ever-returning 

spring. 

*  O   ever-returning    sjoring  !    trinity   sure   to   me   you 

bring; 
Lilac  blooming  perennial,   and   di'ooping  star  in  the 

west. 
And  thought  of  him  I  love. 


^  O  powerful,  western,  fallen  star  ! 

O  shades  of  night !  O  moody,  tearful  night ! 

O  great  star  disappear'd !  O  the  black  murk  that  hides 

the'  star ! 
O  cruel  hands  that  hold  me  powerless  !  0  helpless  soul 

of  me ! 
0  harsh  surrounding  cloud,  that  will  not  free  my  soul ! 


32  Passage  to  India. 

3 

*  In  the  door-yard  fronting  an  old  farm-lioiise,  near  the 

wliite-wash'd  palings, 
Stands  the  lilac  bush,  tall-growing,  with  hcart-shaj)ed 

leaves  of  rich  green, 
"With  many  a  pointed  blossom,  rising,  delicate,  with  the 

perfume  strong  I  love. 
With  every  leaf  a  miracle and  from  this  bush  in 

the  door-yaid, 
With  delicats-color'd  bloE'Soms,  and  heart-shaped  leaves 

of  rich  green, 
A  sprig,  with  its  flower,  I  breali. 


^  In  the  swamp,  in  secluded  recesses, 

A  shy  and  hidden  bird  is  warbling  a  song. 

^  Solitary,  the  tlirush. 

The  hermit,  withdrawn  to  himself,  avoiding  the  settle- 
ments. 
Sings  by  himself  a  song. 

'  Song  of  the  bleeding  throat ! 

Death's  outlet  song  of  life — (for  well,  dear  brother,  I 

know. 
If  thou  wast  not  gifted  to  sing,  thou  would'st  surely 

die.) 


^  Over  the  breast  of  the  spring,  the  land,  amid  cities, 
Amid  lanes,  and  tln'ough  old  woods,  (where  lately  the 

violets  peep'd  fi-om  the  ground,  spotting  the  gray 

debris  ;) 
Amid  the  grass  in  the  fields  each  side  of  the  lanes — 

passing  the  endless  grass  ; 
Passing  the  3'ellow-sj)ear'd  wheat,  every  grain  from  its 

shroud  in  the  dark-brown  fields  uprising  ; 
Passing  the  apple-tree  blows  of  white  and  pink  in  the 

orchards  ; 


President  Liing.oln's  Bueial  Hymn.  33 

Carrying  a  corpse  to  wliere  it  shall  rest  in  tlie  grave, 
Niglit  aad  day  journeys  a  coffin. 

6 

^  Cofnn  that  passes  through  lanes  and  streets, 
Through  day  and  night,  with  the  great  cloud  darkening 

the  land, 
"With  the  pomp  of  the  inloop'd  flags,  with  the  cities 

draped  in  black, 
With  the  shov/  of  the  States  themselyes,  as  of  crape- 

veil'd  women,  standing, 
"With  processions  long  and  winding,  and  the  flambeaus 

of  the  night. 
With  the  countless  torches  lit — with  the  silent  sea  of 

faces,  and  the  unbared  heads, 
With  the  waiting  depot,  the  arriving  coffin,  and  the 

sombre  faces, 
Y/ith  dirges  through  the  night,  with  the  thousand  voices 

rising  strong  and  solemn  ; 
With  all  the  moui-nful  voices  of  the  dirges,  pour'd  around 

the  coffin. 
The  dim-lit  churches  and  the  shuddering  organs — Where 

amid  these  you  journey, 
With  the  tolling,  tolling  bells'  i^erpetual  clang  ; 
Here  !  coffin  that  slowly  pass3s, 
I  give  you  my  sprig  of  lilac. 


'"  (Nor  for  you,  for  one,  alone  ; 
Blossoms  and  branches  green  to  coffins  all  I  bring  : 
For  fresh  as  the  morning — thus  would  I  carol  a  song 
for  you,  O  sane  and  sacred  death. 

"  All  over  bouquets  of  roses, 

O  death  !  I  cover  you  over  with  roses  and  early  lihes  ; 

But  mostly  and  now  the  lilac  that  blooms  the  first, 

Copious,  I  break,  I  break  the  sprigs  from  the  bushes  ; 

With  loaded  arms  I  come,  pouring  for  you, 

For  you,  and  the  coffins  all  of  you,  O  death.) 


34  Passage  to  Indu. 


'■  O  western  orb,  sailing  the  heaven ! 

Now  I  kuow  what  you  must  have  meant,  as  a  month 

since  we  walk'd, 
As  we  walk'd  up  and  down  in  the  dark  blue  so  mystic, 
As  we  walk'd  in  silence  the  transparent  shadowy  night, 
As  I  saw  you  had  something  to  tell,  as  you  bent  to  me 

night  after  night, 
As  you  droop'd  from  the  sky  low  down,  as  if  to  my  side, 

(while  the  other  stars  all  look'd  on  ;) 
As  we  wander'd  together  the  solemn  night,  (for  some- 
thing, I  know  not  what,  kept  me  from  sleep  ;) 
As  the  night  advanced,  and  I  saw  on  the  rim  of  the 

west,  ere  yoa  went,  how  full  you  were  of  woe  ; 
As  I  stood  on  the  rising  ground  in  the  breeze,  in  the 

cold  transparent  night, 
As  I  watch'd  where  you   pass'd   and  was  lost  in  the 

netherward  black  of  the  night. 
As  my  soul,  in  its  trouble,  dissatisfied,  sank,  as  v.hcrc 

you,  sad  orb, 
Concluded,  dropt  in  the  night,  and  was  gone. 

9 

"  Sing  on,  there  in  the  swamp ! 

0  singer  bashful  and  tender  !  I  hear  your  notes — I  hear 

your  call ; 

1  hear — I  come  presently' — I  understand  you  ; 

But  a  moment  I  linger — for  the  lustrous  star  has  de- 

tain'd  me  ; 
The  star,  my  departing  comrade,  holds  and  detains  mc. 

10 

"  O  how  shall  I  warble  myself  for  the  dead  one  there  I 

loved  ? 
And  how  shall  I  deck  my  song  for  the  large  sweet  soul 

that  has  gone  ? 
And  what  shall  my  perfume  be,  for  the  grave  of  him  I 

love  ?      ' 


President  Lincoln's  Bueial  Hymi^.  35 

'^  Sea--wincls,  blown  fi'om  east  and  west, 
Blown  from  the  eastern  sea,  and  blown  from  the  west- 
ern sea,  till  there  on  the  prafries  meeting  : 
These,  and  with  these,  and  the  breath  of  my  chant, 
I  perfume  the  grave  of  him  I  love. 

11 

"^  O  what  shall  I  hang  on  the  chamber  walls  ? 

And  what  shall  the  pictures  be  that  I  hang  on  the 

walls, 
To  adorn  the  bui'ial-house  of  him  I  love  ? 

"  Pictures  of  growing  spring,  and  farms,  and  homes, 
With  the  Fourth-month  eve  at  sundown,  and  the  gray 

smoke  lucid  and  bright, 
With  floods  of  the  yellow  gold  of  the  gorgeous,  indo- 
lent, sinking  sun,  burning,  expanding  the  air  ; 
With  the  fresh  sweet  herbage  iinder  foot,  and  the  j)ale 

green  leaves  of  the  trees  prolific  ; 
In  the  distance  the  flowing  glaze,  the  breast  of  the  river, 

with  a  wind-dapple  here  and  there  ; 
With  ranging  hills   on  the  banks,  with  many  a  lino 

against  the  sk}',  and  shadows  ; 
And  the  city  at  hand,  with  dwellings  so  dense,  and 

slacks  of  chimneys, 
And  all  the  scenes  of  life,  and  the  workshops,  and  the 

workmen  homeward  retvu'uing. 

12 

'*  Lo !  body  and  soul !  this  land ! 

Mighty  Manhattan,  with  spires,  and  the  sparkhng  and 
hurrying  tides,  and  the  ships  ; 

The  varied  and  ample  land — the  South  and  the  North 
in  the  light — Ohio's  shores,  and  flashing  Mis- 
souri, 

And  ever  the  far-spreading  prairies,  cover'd  with  grass 
and  corn. 

"  Lo  !  the  most  excellent  sun,  so  calm  and  haughty  ; 
The  violet  and  purple  morn,  with  just-felt  breezes  ; 


36  Passage  to  India. 

The  gentle,  soft-born,  measureless  light ; 

The    miracle,     spreading,    bathing    all  —  the    fulfill'd 

noou  ; 
ITie  coming  eve,  delicious — the  Vi'elcome  night,  and  the 

stars, 
Over  my  cities  shining  all,  enveloping  man  and  land. 


■^  Sing  on  !  sing  on,  you  gray-brovrn  bird ! 

Sing  from  the  swamps,  the  recesses — pour  your  chant 

from  the  bushes ; 
Limitless    out   of    the   dusk,   cut   of   the   cedars   and 

pines. 

•'  Sing  on,  dearest  brother — ■warble  your  reedy  song  ; 
Loud  human  song,  v/ith  voice  of  uttermost  woe. 

'"-  O  liquid,  and  free,  and  tender  ! 

O  wild  and  loose  to  my  soul !  O  wondi'ous  singer  ! 

You  only  I  hear jet  the  star  holds  me,  (but  will 

soon  depart ;) 
Yet  the  lilac,  v/ith  mastering  odor,  holds  me. 

14 

■^  Now  while  I  sat  in  the  day,  and  look'd  forth. 

In  the  close  of  the  day,  with  its  light,  and  the  fields  of 

spring,  and  the  farmer  preparing  his  crops, 
In  the  large  unconscious  scenery  of  my  land,  wdth  its 

lakes  and  forests, 
In   the   heavenly    aerial   beauty,    (after   the   perturb'd 

winds,  and  the  storms  ;) 
Under  the  arching  heavens  of  the  aftei*noou  swift  pass- 
ing, and  the  voices  of  children  and  women. 
The  many-moving  sea-tides, — and  I  saw"  the  ships  how 

they  suil'd, 
And  the  summer  approaching  with  richness,  and  the 

fields  all  busy  with  labor. 
And  the  infinite  separate  houses,  how  they  a'!l  vrent  on, 

each  with  its  meals  and  minutia  of  daily  usages  ; 


President  LiisColh's  Bupjal  Hysik.  37 

And  the  streets,  how  their  throbbings  throbb'd,  and  the 
cities  pent — lo  !  then  and  there, 

rn,lhng  upon  them  all,  and  among  them  all,  envelopitig 
me  with  the  rest, 

Appear'd  the  elond,  appear'd  the  long  black  trail ; 

And  I  hnew  Death,  its  thought,  and  the  sacred  knowl- 
edge of  death. 

15 

-^  Then  with  the  knowledge  of  death  as  walking  one 
side  of  me, 

And  the  thought  of  death  close-v/alkiug  the  other  side 
of  me, 

And  I  in  the  middle,  as  with  companions,  and  as  hold- 
ing the  hands  of  companions, 

I  fled  forth  to  the  hiding  receiving  night,  that  talks 
not, 

Down  to  the  shores  of  the  water,  the  path  by  the  swamp 
in  the  dimness, 

To  the  solemn  shadowy  cedars,  and  ghostly  pines  !  o 
still. 

-^  And  the  singer  so  shy  to  the  rest  receiv'd  me  ; 

The  gray-brown   bird   I  know,  receiv'd   us  comrades 

three  ; 
And  he  sang  W'hat  seem'd  the  carol  of  death,  and  a 

verse  for  him  I  love. 

-^  From  deep  secluded  recesses, 

From  the  iragi'ant  cedars,  and  the  ghostly  pines   so 

still, 
Came  the  carol  of  the  bird. 

"'  And  the  charm  of  the  carol  rapt  me, 

As  I  held,  as  if  by  their  hands,  my  comrades  in  the 

night ; 
And  the  voice  of  m}-  spirit  tallied   the  song  of   the 

bird. 


38  Passage  to  India. 

I)  EA  TH    CAROL.    ' 
16 

^^   Come,  lovely  and  soothing  Death, 

Undulate  round  the  icorld,  serenely  arriving,  arriving, 

In  the  day,  in  the  night,  to  all,  to  each, 

Sooner  or  later,  delicate  Death. 

"°  Prais'd  be  the  fathomless  \iniverse. 
For  life  and  joy,  and  for  objects  and  knoiclcdge  curious  j 
And  for  love,  sweet  love — But  praise  !  p7-aise  !  praise  ! 
For  the  sure-enwinding  arms  of  cool-enfolding  Death. 

""  Dark  Mother,  always  gliding  near,  iviih  soft  feet,  - 
Have  none  clianted  for  thee  a  chant  of  fullest  ivelcome? 
TJien  I  chant  it  for  thee — I  glorfy  thee  above  all ; 
I  bring  thee  a  song  that  when  thou  must  indeed  come,  come 
unfalteringly. 

^'  Approach,  strong  Deliver  ess  ! 

Wiien  it  is  so — ivhen  thou  hast  taken  them,  I  joyously  sing 

the  dead, 
Lost  in  the  loving,  floating  ocean  of  thee. 
Laved  in  the  flood  of  tliy  bliss,  0  DealJi. 

^'  From  me  to  thee  glad  serenades. 

Dances  for  thee  I  propose,  saluting  thee — adornments  and 

f eastings  for  thee  ; 
And  the  sights  of  the  open  landscape,  and  the  liigh-spread 

sky,  are  fitting. 
And  life  and  the  fields,  and  the  huge  and  thouglitful  night. 

^■^  Tlie  night,  in  silence,  under  many  a  star  ; 

Tlie  ocean  shore,  and  the  husky  whispering  wave,  xvhose 

voice  I  know  ; 
And  the  soul  turning  to  thee,  0  vast  and  well-veil' d  Death, 
And  the  body  gratfidly  nestling  close  to  tJicc. 

^^  Over  the  tree-tops  I  float  thee  a  song  ! 
Over  the  rising  and  sinking  waves — over  tlie  myriad  fields, 
and  the  prairies  wide ; 


PEEaiDDNJ  Lincoln's  Bueial  Htivin.  39 

Over  the  dense-pach' d  cities  all,  and  the  teeming  icJiarves 

and  ways, 
1  float  this  carol  ivithjoy,  ivithjoy  to  thee,  0  Death! 

17 

^^  To  tlie  tally  of  my  soul. 

Loud  aud  strong  kept  up  tlie  gray-brown  bird, 

With  pure,  deliberate  notes,  spreading,  filling  the  night. 

'^  Loud  in  the  pines  and  cedars  dim, 

Clear  in  the  freshness  moist,  and  the  swamp-perfume  ; 

And  I  with  my  comrades  there  in  the  night. 

^^  "Wliile  my  sight  that  was  bound  in  my  eyes  unclosed, 
As  to  long  panoramas  of  visions. 

18 

^^  I  saw  askant  the  armies  ; 

And* I  saw,  as  in  noiseless  dreams,  hundreds  of  battle- 
flags  ; 

Borne  through  the  smoke  of  the  battles,  and  pierc'd 
with  missiles,  I  saw  them, 

And  carried  hither  and  yon  through  the  smoke,  and 
torn  and  bloody ; 

And  at  last  but  a  few  shi-eds  left  on  the  stafis,  (aud  all 
in  silence,) 

And  the  staffs  all  splinter'd  and  broken. 

^^  I  saw  battle-corpses,  myriads  of  them, 

And  the  white  skeletons  of  young  men — I  saw  them  ; 

I  saw  the  debris  and  debris  of  all  the  dead  soldiers  of 

the  war  ; 
But  I  saw  they  were  not  as  was  tliought ; 
They  themselves  were  fully  at  rest — they  suffer'd  not ; 
The  living  remain'd  and  suffer'd — the  mother  suffer'd, 
And  the  wife  and  the  child,  and  the  musing  comrade 

suffer'd. 
And  the  armies  thnt  remain'd  suffer'd. 

19 

^^  Passing  the  visions,  j^assing  the  night ; 

Passing,  unloosing  the  hold  of  my  comrades'  hands  ; 


40  Passage  to  India. 

Passing  tne  song  of  the  hermit  bird,  and  the  tallying 
soDg  of  my  soul, 

(Victorious  song,  death's  outlet  song,  yet  varying,  ever- 
altering  song. 

As  loY/  and  v;ailiug,  yet  clear  the  notes,  I'ising  and  fall- 
ing, flooding  the  night. 

Sadly  sinking  and  fainting,  as  warning  and  warning, 
and  yet  again  biu'stmg  with  joy. 

Covering  the  earth,  and  filling  the  spread  of  the  heaven. 

As  that  pov/erful  p.-'alm  in  the  night  I  heard  from 
recesses,) 

Passing,  I  leave  thee,  lilac  with  heart-shaped  leaves  ; 

I  leave  thee  there  in  the  door-yard,  blooming,  retiu-ning 
Vt'ith  spring. 

^'  I  cease  from  my  song  for  thee  ; 

From  my  gaze  on  thee  in  the  west,  fronting  the  west, 

communing  v/ith  thee,  * 

O  comrade  lustrous,  with  silver  face  in  the  night. 

20 

^-  Yet  each  I  keep,  and  all,  retricvements  out  of  the 
night ; 

The  song,  the  wondi'ous  chant  of  the  gray-brown  bird. 

And  the  talljdng  chant,  the  echo  arous'd  in  my  soul. 

With  the  lustrous  and  drooj^iug  star,  "vidth  the  counte- 
nance full  of  v;oe. 

With  the  lilac  tall,  and  its  blossoms  of  mastering  odor  ; 

With  the  holders  holding  my  hand,  nearing  the  call  of 
the  bird. 

Comrades  mine,  and  I  in  the  midst,  and  their  memory 
ever  I  keep — for  the  dead  I  loved  so  well ; 

For  the  sweetest,  wisest  soul  of  all  my  days  and  lands . . . 
and  this  for  his  dear  sake  ; 

Lilac  and  star  and  bird,  twined  with  the  chant  of  my 
soul. 

There  in  the  fragrant  pines,  and  the  cedars  dusk  and  dim. 


Memokies  of  President  Lincoln.  41 

O    CAPTAIN!    MY   CAPTAIN! 


O  Captain  !  my  Cnj)tfiiii  1  our  fearful  trip  is  clone  ; 
The  ship  has  weather'd  every  rack,  the  prize  we  sciight 

is  "won  ; 
The  port  is  near,  the  bells  I  hear,  the  people  all  exulting-, 
While  foUow  ejea  the  steady  keel,  the  vessel  giim  and 
daring  : 
But  0  heart !    heart !    heart  1 
O  the  bleeding  drops  of  red. 

Where  on  the  deck  my  Captain  lies, 
Fallen  cold  and  dead. 


O  Captain  1  my  Captain !  rise  np  and  hear  the  bells  ; 
Rise  up — for  you  the  flag  is  flung — for  you  the  bugle 

trills; 
For  you  bouquets  and  ribbon'd  wreaths — for  you  the 

shores  a-crowding  ; 
For  you  they  call,  the  swaying  mass,  their  eager  faces 
tui-ning  ; 
Here  Captain  !  dear  father  ! 
This  arm  beneath  j-our  head  ; 

It  is  some  di-eam  that  on  the  deck, 
You've  fallen  cold  and  dead. 


My  Captain  does  not  ans\yer,  his  lips  are  pale  and  still ; 
My  father  does  not  feel  my  arm,  he  has  no  pulse  nor  will; 
The  ship  is  anchor'd  safe  and  sound,  its  voyage  closed 

and  done  ; 
From  fearful  trip,  the  victor  ship,  comes  in  with  object 
won  : 
Exult,  O  shores,  and  ring,  O  bells ! 
But  I,  with  mournful  tread. 
Walk  the  deck  my  Captain  lies, 
Fallen  cold  and  dead. 


42  Memokies  of  Peesidekt  Lincoln. 

HUSH'D    BE    THE    CAMPS    TO-DAY. 

{May  4,  1865.) 


Hush'd  be  tlie  camps  to  day  ; 
And,  soldiers,  let  us  drajoe  our  war-worn  weapons  ; 
And  each  with  musing  soul  retire,  to  celebrate, 
Our  dear  commander's  death. 

^  No  more  for  him  life's  stormy  conflicts  ; 

Nor  victory,  nor  defeat — no  more  time's  dark  events, 

Charging  like  ceaseless  clouds  across  the  sky. 


^  But  sing,  poet,  in  our  name  ; 

Sing  of  the  love  we  bore  him — because  you,  dweller  in 
camps,  know  it  truly. 

*  As  they  invault  the  coffin  there  ; 

Sing — as  they   close  the  doors  of  earth  upon  him — 

one  verse, 
For  the  heavy  hearts  of  soldiers. 


THIS  DUST  WAS  ONCE  THE  MAN. 

This  dust  was  once  the  Man, 

Gentle,  plain,  just  and  resolute — under  whose  cautious 

hand. 
Against  the  foulest  crime  in  history  known  in  any  land 

or  age, 
Was  saved  the  Union  of  These  States. 


Leaves  of  Grass. 


POEM  OF  JOYS. 


'  O  TO  make  the  most  jubilant  poem ! 

Even  to  set  oif  these,  and  merge  with  these,  the  carols 
of  Death. 

O  full  of  nuisic !  full  of  manhood,  womanhood,  in- 
fancy ! 

Full  of  common  employments !  full  of  grain  and  trees. 

-  O  for  the  voices  of  animals  !  0  for  the  swiftness  and 

balance  of  fishes! 
O  for  the  dropping  of  rain-drops  in  a  poem  ! 
O  for  the  sunshine,  and  motion  of  waves  in  a  poem. 

^  O  the  joy  of  my  spirit !  it  is  uncaged !  it  darts  like 

lightning ! 
It  is  not  enough  to  have  this  globe,  or  a  certain  time — 

I  v/ill  have  thousands  of  globes,  and  all  time. 


^  O  the  engineer's  joys  ! 

To  go  with  a  locomotive ! 

To  hear  the  hiss  of  steam — the  merry  shriek — the 
steam- whistle — the  laughing  locomotive  ! 

To  push  Avith  resistless  way,  and  speed  off  in  the  dis- 
tance. 

^  O  the  gleesome  saunter  over  fields  and  hill-sides  ! 


44  Passage  to  India. 

The  leaves  and  flowers  of  tlie  commonest  weeds — the 

moist  fresli  stillness  of  the  woods, 
The  exquisite  smell  of   the  earth  at    day-brcali:,    and 

all  through  the  forenoon. 

^  O  the  horseman's  and  horsewoman's  joys  ! 
The  saddle — the  gallop — the  pressure  upon  the  seat — 
the  cool  gurghng  by  the  ears  and  haii". 


'  O  the  fireman's  joys  ! 

I  hear  the  alarm  at  dead  of  night, 

I  hear  bells — shouts  ! — I  pass  the  crowd — I  run  ! 

The  sight  of  the  flames  maddens  me  with  pleasure, 

^  O  the  joy  of  the  strong-brawn'd  fighter,  towering  in 
the  arena,  in  perfect  condition,  conscious  of 
povrer,  thirsting  to  meet  his  opponent. 

"  0  the  joy  of  that  vast  elemental  sympathy  which  only 
the  human  Soul  is  capable  of  generating  and 
emitting  in  steady  and  limitless  floods. 

4 

'"  O  the  mother's  joys  ! 

The  watching — the  endurance — the  pi'ecious  love — the 
anguish — the  patiently  yielded  life. 

"  O  the  joy  of  increase,  growth,  recuperation  ; 
The  joy  of  soothing  and  pacifying — the  joy  of  concord 
»     and  harmony. 

'-  O  to  go  back  to  the  place  where  I  was  born  ! 

To  hear  the  birds  sing  once  more  ! 

To  ramble   about  the  house  and  barn,  and  over  the 

fields,  once  more, 
And  through  the  orchard  and  along  the  old  lanes  once 

more. 

5 

' '  0  male  and  female  ! 


Poem  of  Joys.  45 

0  the  presence  of  women !  (I  swear  tliere  is  nothing 

more  exquisite  to  me  than  the  mere  presence  of 

v>'0men  ;) 
0  for  the  girl,  my  mate  !  O  for  the  happiness  with  ray 

mate  ! 
0  the  young  man  as  I  pass  !    O  I  am  sick  after  the 

friendship  of  him  who,  I  fear,  is  indifferent  to 
»  me. 

"  O  the  streets  of  cities ! 

The  flitting  faces — the  expressions,  eyes,  feet,  costumes ! 
O  I  cannot  tell  how  welcome  they  are  to  me. 

6 

"  O  to  have  been  brought  up  on  bays,  lagoons,  creeks, 

or  along  the  coast ! 
O  to  continue  and  be  employ'd  there  all  my  life  ! 

0  the  briny  and  damp  smell — the  shore — the  salt  weeds 

exposed  at  low  water. 
The  work  of  fishermen — the  work  of  the  eel-fisher  and 
clam-fisher. 

''  O  it  is  I ! 

1  come  with  my  clam-rake  and  spade  !  I  come  with  my 

eel-spear  ; 
Is  the  tide  out  ?  I  join  the  gxoup  of  clam-diggers  on  the 

flats, 
I  laugh  and  work  with  them — I  joke  at  my  work,  like  a 

mettlesome  young  man. 

''  In  winter  I  take  my  eel-basket  and  eel-spear  and 
travel  out  on  foot  on  the  ice — I  have  a  small  axe 
to  cut  holes  in  the  ice  ; 

Behold  me,  well-clothed,  going  gaily,  or  returning  in 
the  afternoon — my  brood  of  tough  boys  accom- 
panying me. 

My  brood  of  grown  and  part-grown  boys,  who  love  to 
be  with  no  one  else  so  well  as  they  love  to  be 
with  me, 

By  day  to  work  with  me,  and  by  night  to  sleep  \vith  me. 


46  Passage  to  India. 

^^  Or,  another  time,  in  warm  weather,  out  in  a  boat,  to 
lift  the  lobster-pots,  where  they  are  sunk  v;it!i 
heavy  stones,  (I  know  the  buoys  ;) 

0  the  sweetness  of  the  Fifth-month  morning  upon  the 

water,  as  I  row,  just  before  sunrise,  toward  the 
buoys ; 

1  pull  the  wicker  pots  up  slantingly — the  clarlc  green 

lobsters  are  desperate  "vvith  their  claws,  as  I  take 

them  out — I  insert  wooden  pegs  in  the  joints  of 

their  pincers, 
I  go  to  all  the  places,  one  af  uer  another,  and  then  row 

back  to  the  shore. 
There,  in  a  huge  kettle  of  boiling  water,  the  lobsters 

shall  be  boil'd  till  their  color  becomes  scarlet. 

'^  Or,  another  time,  mackerel-taking. 

Voracious,  mad  for  the  hook,  near  the  surface,  they 

seem  to  fill  the  water  for  miles : 
Or,  another  time,  fishing  for  rock-fish  in  Chesapeake 

Bay — I  one  of  the  brown-faced  crew  : 
Or,  another  time,  trailing  for  blue-fish  off  Paumanok,  I 

stand  with  braced  hodj, 
M}'  left  foot  is  on  the  gunwale — my  right  arm  throws 

the  coils  of  slender  rope. 
In  sight  around  me  the  quick  veering  and  darting  of 

fifty  skiffs,  my  companions. 


^°  O  boating  on  the  rivers  ! 

The  voyage  down  the  Niagara,  (the  St.  Lawrence,) — 
the  superb  scenery — the  steamers. 

The  ships  sailing — the  Thousand  Islands — the  occa- 
sional timber-raft,  and  the  raftsmen  with  long- 
reaching  sweep-oars. 

The  little  huts  on  the  rafts,  and  the  stream  of  smoke 
when  they  cook  suj)per  at  evening. 

"^^  O  something  pernicious  and  di'ead  ! 
SomethiDg  far  away  from  a  jDuny  and  pious  life  ! 
Something  unproved  !  Something  in  a  trance  ! 


Poem  of  Joys.  47 

Sometliing  escaped  from  the  andiorage,  and  driving 
free. 

"'"  O  to  work  in  mines,  or  forging  iron ! 

Foundry   casting — the   foundiy   itself — the   rude  high 

roof — the  amj)le  and  shadow'd  space, 
The  furnace — the  hot  Hquid  pour'd  out  aud  running. 


"^  O  to  resume  the  joys  of  the  soldier  : 

To  feel  the  presence  of  a  brave  general !  to  feel  his  sym- 
pathy ! 

To  behold  his  calmness !  to  be  warm'd  in  the  rays  of  his 
smile  ! 

To  go  to  battle !  to  hear  the  bugles  play,  and  the  drums 
beat! 

To  hear  the  crash  of  artillery !  to  see  the  glittering  of 
the  bayonets  and  musket-barrels  in  the  sun ! 

To  see  men  fall  and  die,  and  not  complain  ! 

To  taste  the  savage  taste  of  blood  !  to  be  so  devilish ! 

To  gloat  so  over  the  wounds  and  deaths  of  the  enemy. 

9 

■^  O  the  whaleman's  joys !    O  1  cruise  my  old  cruise 

again ! 
I  feel  the  ship's  motion  under  me — I  feel  the  Atlantic 

breezes  fanning  me, 
I  hear  the  cry  again  sent  down  from  the  mast-head — 

There — she  bloics  ! 
— Again  I  spring  up  the  rigging,  to  look  with  the  rest 

— We  see — we  descend,  wild  with  excitement, 
I  leap  in  the  lower'd  boat — We  row  toward  oui*  prey, 

where  he  lies. 
We  approach,  stealthy  and  silent — I  see  the  mountain- 
ous mass,  lethargic,  basking, 
I  see  the  harpooneer  standing  up — I  see  the  weapon 

dart  from  his  vigorous  arm  : 
O  swift,  again,  now,  far  out  in  the  ocean,  the  wounded 

whale,  settling,  running  to  windward,  tows  me  ; 


/ 


48  Passage  to  Ixelv, 

— Again   I   see   him   rise   to    breatlic — "We   row   close 

agaiu, 
I  see  a  lance  driven  throiTgli  big  side,  press'd  deep, 

turn'd  in  the  wound, 
Again  we  back  off — I  see  liim  settle  again — the  life  is 

leaving  him  fast, 
As  he  rises,  he  spouts  blood — I  sec  liim  swim  in  cii-cles 

narrower  and  narrower,  sv>iftly  cutting  the  water 

— I  see  him  die  ; 
He  gives  one  convulsive  leap  in  the  centre  of  the  circle, 

and  then  falls  flat  and  still  in  the  bloody  foam. 

10 

-°  O  the  old  manhood  of  me,  my  joy ! 

My  children  and  grand-children — my  white  hair  and 

beard. 
My  largeness,  calmness,  majesty,  out  of  the  long  stretch 

of  my  life. 

"^  O  the  ripen'd  joy  of  womanhood! 

0  perfect  happiness  at  last  I 

1  am  more  than  eighty  years  of  age — mj  hair,  too,  is 

pure  white — I  am  the  most  venerable  mother  ; 
How  clear  is  my  mind  !  how  all  people  draw  nigh  to 

me! 
"What  attractions  are  these,  bej-ond  any  before?  what 

bloom,  more  than  the  bloom  of  youth  ? 
What  beauty  is  this  that  descends  upon  me,  and  rises 

out  of  me  ? 

■'  0  the  orator's  joys ! 

To  inflate  the  chest — to  roll  the  thunder  of  the  voice 
out  from  the  ribs  and  throat, 

To  make  the  people  rage,  weep,  hate,  desire,  with  your- 
self, 

To  lead  America — to  quell  America  with  a  great  tongue. 

^^  O  the  joy  of  my  soul  leaning  pois'd  on  itself — receiv- 
ing identity  through  materials,  and  loving  them 
— observing  characters,  and  absorbing  them  ; 


PoEii  01"  Joy?.  49 

O  my  soul,  vibrated  ba{;lc   to  me,  from   tliem — from 

facts,    sight,    hearing,    toueli,    my  phrenology, 

reason,   articulation,   camparison,   memory,  and 

tho  like  ; 
The  real  life  of  my  senses  and  flesh,  transcending  my 

senses  and  flesh  ; 
My  body,  done  with  materials — my  sight,  done  \Yith 

my  material  eyes  ; 
Proved  to  me  this  day,  beyond  cavil,  that  it  is  not  my 

material  eyes  which  finally  see, 
Nor 'my  material  body  which  finally  loves,  walks,  laughs, 

shouts,  embraces,  procreates. 

11 

-'  O  the  farmer's  joys ! 

Ohioan's,  Illinoisian's,  Wisconsinese',  Kanadian's,  lo- 

wan's,  Kansian's,  Missourian's,  Oregonese'  joys  ; 
To  rise  at  peep  of  day,  and  pass  forth  nimbly  to  work. 
To  plow  land  in  the  fall  for  winter-sown  crops, 
To  jplough  land  in  the  spring  for  maize. 
To  train  orchards — to  graft  the  trees — to  gather  apples 

in  the  fall. 

^°  O  the  pleasure  with  trees  ! 

The  orchard — the  forest — the  oak,  cedar,  pine,  pekan- 
tree, 

The  honey-locust,  black-walnut,  cottonv/ood,  and  mag- 
nolia. 

12 

"^  0  Death !  the  voyage  of  Death  ! 

The  beautiful  touch  of  Death,  soothing  and  benumbing 

a  few  moments,  for  reasons  ; 
Myself,   discharging   my  excrementitious  body,   to  be 

burn'd,  or  render'd  to  powder,  or  buried, 
My  real  body  doubtless  left  to  me  for  other  spheres. 
My  voided  body,  nothing  more  to  me,  returning  to  the 

purifications,  further  oflices,  eternal  uses  of  the 

earth. 

3 


50  Passage  to  Indlv. 


•'*■  O  to  ba,tlie  in  tlie  swimming-bath,  or  in  a  good  place 

along  shore ! 
To  splash,  the  water !  to  walk  ankle-deep — to  race  naked 

along  the  shore. 

^^  O  to  realize  space ! 

The  plenteousness  of  all — that  there  are  no  bounds  ; 
To  emerge,  and  be  of  the  sky — of  the  sun  and  moon, 
and  the  flying  clouds,  as  one  with  them. 

^  O  the  joy  of  a  manly  self-hood ! 

Personality — to  be  servile  to  none — to  defer  to  none — 

not  to  any  tjTant,  known  or  unknown, 
To  walk  with  erect  carriage,  a  step  springy  and  elastic, 
To  look  with  calm  gaze,  or  with  a  flashing  eye, 
To  speak  with  a  full  and  sonorous  voice,  out  of  a  broad 

chest. 
To  confront  with  your  personality  all  the  other  x^erson- 

alities  of  the  earth. 

14 

^'  Know'st  thou  the  excellent  joys  of  youth  ? 

Joys  of  the  dear  companions,  and  of  the  merry  word, 

and  laughing  face  ? 
Joys  of  the  glad,  light-beaming  da}' — ^joy  of  the  wide- 

breath'd  games  ? 
Joy  of  sweet  music — ^joy  of  the  lighted  ball-room,  and 

the  dancers? 
Joy  of   the    fi'iendly,    j^lenteous    dinner — the    strong 

carouse,  and  di'inking  ? 

15 

'"  Yet,  O  my  soul  supreme ! 

Know'st  thou  the  joys  of  pensive  thought  ? 

Joys  of    the   free    and    lonesome    heart — the  tender, 

gloomy  heart  ? 
Joy  of  the  solitary  walk — the  spirit  bowed  yet  proud — 

the  suffering  and  the  struggle  ? 


Poem  of  Joys.  51 

The  agonistic  tliroes,  the  extasies — ^joys  of  the  solemn 
musings,  day  or  night  ? 

Joys  of  the  thought  of  Death — the  great  spheres  Time 
and  Space  ? 

Prophetic  joys  of  better,  loftier  love's  ideals — the  Di- 
vine Wife — the  sweet,  eternal,  perfect  Comrade  ? 

Joys  all  thine  own,  undying  one — ^joys  worthy  thee,  O 
Soul.  - 

16 

^^  O,  while  I  live,  to  be  the  ruler  of  life — not  a  slave. 
To  meet  life  as  a  powerful  conqueror, 
No  fumes — no  ennui — no  more  complaints,  or  scornful 
criticisms. 

"^  O  me  repellent  and  ugly  ! 

To  these  proud  laws  of  the  air,  the  water,  and  the 
ground,  proving  my  interior  Soul  impregnable, 
And  nothing  exterior  shall  ever  take  command  of  me. 

^^  O  to  attract  by  more  than  attraction ! 

How  it  is  I  know  not — yet  behold!   the    something 

which  obeys  none  of  the  rest. 
It  is  offensive,  never  defensive — yet  hov/  magnetic  it 

draws. 


17 

*°  O  joy  of  suffering ! 

To  struggle  against  great  odds !  to  meet  enemies  un- 
daunted ! 

To  be  entirely  alone  with  them  !  to  find  how  much  one 
can  stand ! 

To  look  strife,  torture,  prison,  popular  odium,  death, 
face  to  face ! 

To  mount  the  scaffold !  to  advance  to  the  muzzles  of 
guns  with  perfect  nonchalance  ! 

To  be  indeed  a  Grod ! 


52  Passage  to  Ikdlv. 

18 

■*'  O,  to  sail  to  sea  in  a  ship ! 

To  leave  this  steady,  unendurable  land  ! 

To  leave  the  tiresome  sameness  of  the  streets,  the  side- 
walks and  the  houses  ; 

To  leave  you,  O  you  solid  motionless  land,  and  entering 
a  ship, 

To  sail,  and  sail,  and  sail ! 

19 

^^  0  to  have  my  life  henceforth  a  poem  of  new  joys  ! 
To  dance,  clap  hands,  exult,  shout,  skip,  leap,  roll  on, 

float  on. 
To  be  a  sailor  of  the  world,  bound  for  all  ports, 
A  ship  itself,  (see  indeed  these  sails  I  spread  to  the  sun 

and  air,) 
A  swift  and  swelling  ship,  full  of  rich  words — full  of 

joys. 


Lea  ves  of  Grass. 


To  Think  of  Time. 


'  To  think  of  time — of  all  that  retrospection  ! 
To  think  of  to-day,  and  the  ages  continued  hencefor- 
ward ! 

'^  Have  you  guess'd  you  yourself  would  not  continue  ? 

Have  you  dreaded  these  earth-beetles  ? 

Have  you  fear'd  the  future  would  be  nothing  to  you  ? 

^  Is  to-day  nothing  ?     Is  the  beginningiess  past  noth- 

If  the  future  is  nothing,  they  are  just  as  surely  nothing. 

*  To  think  that  the  sun  rose  in  the  east !  that  men  and 
women  were  flexible,  real,  alive !  that  everything 
was  ahve ! 

To  think  that  you  and  I  did  not  see,  feel,  think,  nor 
bear  our  part ! 

To  think  that  we  are  now  here,  and  bear  our  part ! 


^  Not  a  day  passes — not  a  minute  or  second,  without  an 

accouchement ! 
Not  a  day  passes — not  a  minute  or  second,  v>^ithout  a 

corpse ! 

^  The  dull  nights  go  over,  and  the  dull  days  also, 
The  soreness  of  lying  so  much  in  bed  goes  over, 
The  physician,  after  long  pittting  off,  gives  the  silent 
and  terrible  look  for  an  answer, 


54  Passage  to  Ikdia. 

The  children  come  hurried  and  weeping,  and  the  broth- 
ers and  sisters  are  sent  for, 

Medicines  stand  unused  on  the  shelf — (the  camphor- 
smell  has  loDg-  pervaded  the  rooms,) 

The  faithful  hand  of  the  living  does  not  desert  the  hand 
of  the  dying, 

The  twitching  lips  j)ress  lightly  on  the  forehead  of  the 
dying, 

The  breath  ceases,  and  the  pulse  of  the  heart  ceases, 

The  corjDse  stretches  on  the  bed,  and  the  living  look 
upon  it, 

It  is  palx^able  as  the  living  are  palpable. 

'  The  living  look  upon  the  corpse  with  their  eye-sight. 
But  without  eye-sight  lingers  a  different  living,  and 
looks  curiously  on  the  corpse. 


®  To  think  the  thought  of  Death,  merged  in  the  thought 

of  materials ! 
To  think  that  the  rivers  will  flow,  and  the  snow  fall, 

and  fruits  ripen,  and  act  upon  others  as  upon  us 

now — yet  not  act  upon  us  ! 
To  think  of  all  these  wonders  of  city  and  country,  and 

others  taking  great  interest  in  them — and  wo 

taking  no  interest  in  them  ! 

^  To  think  how  eager  we  are  in  building  our  houses  ! 
To  think  others  shall  be  just  as  eagei-,  and  we  quite 
indifferent  I 

"*  (I  see  one  building  the  house  that  serves  him  a  few 
years,  or  seventy  or  eighty  years  at  most, 

I  see  one  building  the  house  that  serves  him  longer 
than  that.) 

"  Slow-moving  and  black  lines  creep  over  the  whole 
earth — they  never  cease — they  are  the  bui'ial 
lines. 

He  that  vv^as  President  was  buried,  and  he  that  is  now 
President  shall  surely  bo  buried. 


To  Think  of  Time.  55 


'-  A  reminiscence  of  the  vulgar  fate, 

A  frequent  sample  of  tlie  life  and  death  of  workmen. 

Each  after  his  kind  : 

Cold  dash  of  waves  at  the  ferry-wharf — posh  and  ice  in 

the  river,  half-frozen  mud  in  the  streets,  a  gray 

discouraged  sky  overhead,  the  short  last  daylight 

of  Twelfth -month, 
A  hearse  and   stages — other  vehicles  give  place — the 

funeral  of   an   old  Broadway  stage-driver,  the 

cortege  mostly  drivers. 

'^  Steady  the   trot  to   the   cemetery,  duly  rattles  the 
death-bell,  the  gate  is  pass'd,  the  new-dug  gTave 
is  halted  at,  the  living  alight,  the  hearse  uncloses. 
The  coffin  is  pass'd  out,  lower'd  and  settled,  the  whip  is 
laid  on  the  coffin,  the  earth  is  svnftly  shovel'd  in. 
The  mound  above  is  flatted  with  the  spades — silence, 
A  minute — no  one  moves  or  speaks — it  is  done. 
He  is  decently  jout  away — is  there  anything  more  ? 

"  He  was  a  good  fellow,  free-mouth'd,  quick-temp er'd, 
not  bad-looking,  able  to  take  his  own  part,  witty, 
sensitive  to  a  slight,  ready  with  life  or  death  for 
a  friend,  fond  of  women,  gambled,  ate  hearty, 
drank  hearty,  had  known  what  it  was  to  be  flush, 
grew  lov/-spirited  toward  the  last,  sicken'd,  was 
help'd  by  a  contribution,  died,  aged  forty-one 
years — and  that  was  his  funeral. 

'^  Thumb  extended,  finger  uplifted,  apron,  cape,  gloves, 
strap,  wet-weather  clothes,  whip  carefailly  chosen, 
boss,  spotter,  starter,  hostler,  somebody  loafing 
on  you,  you  loafing  on  somebody,  headway,  man 
before  and  man  behind,  good  day's  work,  bad 
day's  work,  pet  stock,  mean  stock,  first  out,  last 
out,  turning-in  at  night ; 

To  think  that  these  are  so  much  and  so  nigh  to  other 
drivers — and  he  there  takes  no  interest  in  them ! 


56  Passage  to  India. 


'"  The    markets,    the   government,   the   working-man's 

wages— to  think  what  account  they  are  through 

our  nights  and  days  ! 
To  think  that  other  working-men  will  make  just  as 

great  account  of  them — yet  we  make  little  or  no 

account  I 

"  The  vulgar  and  the  refined — what  you  call  sin,  and 
what  you  call  goodness — to  think  how  wide  a 
difference  ! 

To  think  the  difference  will  still  continue  to  others,  yet 
we  lie  beyond  the  difference. 

'*  To  think  how  much  pleasure  there  is ! 

Have  you  pleasure  from  looking  at  the  sky  ?  have  you 
pleasure  from  poems  ? 

Do  you  enjoy  yourself  in  the  city?  or  engaged  in  busi- 
.  ness  ?  or  planning  a  nomination  and  election  ? 
or  with  your  wife  and  family  ? 

Or  Avith  your  mother  and  sisters  ?  or  in  womanly  house- 
work ?  or  the  beautiful  maternal  cares  ? 

— These  also  flow  onward  to  others — you  and  I  flow 
onward. 

But  in  due  time,  you  and  I  shall  take  less  interest  in 
them. 

"  Your  farm,  profits,  crops, — to  think  how  engross'd 


you  are 


To  think  there  will  still  be  farms,  profits,  crops — yet  for 
you,  of  what  avail  ? 

G 

^°  What  will  be,  v/ill  be  well — for  what  is,  is  well, 
To  take  interest  is  well,  and  not  to  take  interest  shall 
be  well. 

-'  The  sky  continues  beautifal. 

The  pleasure  of  luen  with  women  shaU  never  be  sated, 

nor  the  pleasure  of  women  with  men,  nor  the 

pleasure  from  poems, 


To  Think  of  Time.  ^       57 

The  domestic  joj^s,  tlie  daily  housework'  or  business,  tlie 

building  of  houses — these  are  not  phantasms — 

they  have  weight,  form,  location  ; 
Farms,  profits,  crops,  markets,  wages,  government,  arc 

none  of  them  phantasms. 
The  difference  between  sin  and  goodness  is  no  delusion. 
The  earth  is  not  an  echo — man  and  his  life,  and  all  the 

things  of  his  life,  are  well-consider 'd. 

'^  You  are  not  thrown  to  the  winds — you  gather  cer- 
tainly and  safely?  around  yourself  ; 
Yourself !  Yourself !  Yourself,  forever  and  ever  ! 


^^  It  is  not  to  diffuse  you  that  you  were  born  of  your 
mother  and  father — it  is  to  identify  you  ; 

It  is  not  that  you  should  be  undecided,  but  that  you 
should  be  decided  ; 

Something  long  preparing  and  formless  is  arrived  and 
form'd  in  you, 

You  are  henceforth  secure,  whatever  comes  or  goes. 

"  The  tlu-eads  that  were  spun  are  gather'd,  the  weft 
crosses  the  warp,  the  pattern  is  systematic. 

"^  The  preparations  have  every  one  been  justified, 
The  orchestra  have  sufiiciently  tuned  their  instruments 
— the  baton  has  given  the  signal. 

^^  The  guest  that  was  coming — he  waited  long,  for  rea- 
sons— he  is  now  housed. 

He  is  one  of  those  who  are  beautiful  and  happy — he  is 
one  of  those  that  to  look  upon  and  be  with  is 
enough. 

-'  The  law  of  the  past  cannot  be  eluded. 
The  law  of  the  present  and  future  cannot  be  eluded, 
The  law  of  the  living  cannot  be  eluded — it  is  eternal. 
The  law  of  promotion  and  transformation  cannot  be 
eluded, 


58  Passage  to  India. 

The  law  of  heroes  and  good-doers  cannot  be  eluded, 
The  law  of  drunkards,  informers,  mean  persons — not 
one  iota  thereof  can  be  eluded. 

8 

"^  Slow  moviug  and  black  lines  go  ceaselessly  over  the 
earth. 

Northerner  goes  carried,  and  Southerner  goes  carried, 
and  they  on  the  Atlantic  side,  and  they  on  the 
Pacific,  and  they  between,  and  all  through  the 
Mississippi  country,  and  all  over  the  earth. 

'"  The  great  masters  and  kosmos  are  well  as  they  go — 
the  heroes  and  good-doers  are  well, 

Th3  known  leaders  and  inventors,  and  the  rich  owners 
and  pious  and  distinguish'd,  may  be  well, 

But  there  is  more  account  than  that — there  is  strict 
account  of  all. 

^°  The  interminable  hordes  of  the  ignorant  and  wicked 

are  not  nothing, 
The  barbarians  of  Africa  and  Asia  are  not  nothing. 
The  common  people  of  Europe  are  not  nothing — the 

American  aborigines  are  not  nothing. 
The  infected  in  the  immigrant  hospital  are  not  nothing 

— the  mui'derer  or  mean  person  is  not  nothing, 
The  perpetual  successions  of  shallow  peoj^le  are  not 

nothing  as  they  go, 
The  lowest  prostitute  is  not  nothing — the  mocker  of 

religion  is  not  nothing  as  he  goes. 

9 

^'  Of  and  in  all  these  things, 

I  have  dream'd  that  we  are  not  to  be  changed  so  much, 

nor  the  law  of  us  changed, 
I  have  dream'd  that  heroes  and  good-doers  shall  bo 

under  the  present  and  past  law. 
And  that  murderers,  drunkards,  liars,  shall  be  under 

the  present  and  past  law, 
For  I  have  dream'd  that  the  law  they  are  under  now  is 

enough. 


To  Think  of  Time.  59 

^^  If  otherwise,  all  came  but  to  ashes  of  dung, 

If  maggots  and  rats  ended  us,  then  Alarum !  for  v/g  are 

betray'd ! 
Then  indeed  suspicion  of  death. 

^^  Do  you  suspect  death  ?  If  I  were  to  suspect  death,  I 

should  die  now, 
Do  you  think  I  could  walk  pleasantly  and  well-suited 

toward  annihilation  ? 

10 

"^  Pleasantly  and  well-suited  I  walk, 

Whither  I  walk  I  cannot  define,  but  I  know  it  is  good. 

The  whole  universe  indicates  that  it  is  good. 

The  past  and  the  present  indicate  that  it  is  good. 

^^  How  beautiful  and  perfect  are  the  animals  ! 

How  perfect  the  earth,  and  the  minutest  thing  upon  it ! 

What  is  called  good  is  perfect,  and  what  is  called  bad  is 

just  as  perfect. 
The  vegetables  and  minerals  are  all  j)erfect,  and  the 

imponderable  fluids  are  perfect ; 
Slowly  and  surely  they  have  pass'd  on  to  this,  and 

slowly  and  surely  they  yet  pass  on. 

11 

^*  I  swear  I  think  now  that  everything  without  excep- 
tion has  an  eternal  Soul ! 

The  trees  have,  rooted  in  the  ground  i  the  weeds  of  the 
sea  have !  the  animals ! 

^^  I  swear  I  think  there  is  nothing  but  immortality ! 
That  the  esquisite  scheme  is  for  it,  and  the  nebulous 

float  is  for  it,  and  the  cohering  is  for  it ; 
And  all  preiDaration  is  for  it !  and  identity  is  for  it !  and 

life  and  materials  are  altogether  for  it ! 


GO  Passage  to  India. 

CHANTING   THE  SQUARE  DEIFIC. 

1 

Chantkg  the  square  cleific,  out  of  the  One  ndvaiiciug, 

out  of  the  sides  ; 
Out  of  the  old  and  ■ne\" — out  of  the  square  entirely 

divine, 
Solid,  four-sided,    (all  tlio  sides   needed) . . .  from  this 

side  Jehovah  am  I, 
Old  Bralrm  I,  and  I  Saturnius  am  ; 
Not  Time  affects  me — I  am  Time,  old,  modern  as  any  ; 
Unpersuadable,   relentless,    executing  righteous  judg- 
ments ; 
As  the  Earth,  the  Father,  the  brovv^n  old  Kronos,  with 

laws, 
Aged   beyond  computation — yet  ever  new — ever  with 

those  mighty  laws  rolling, 
Relentless,  I  forgive  no  man — whoever  siun,  dies — I  vrill 

have  that  man's  life  ; 
Therefore  let  none    expect  mercy — Have   the  seasons, 

gravitation,    the    appointed   daj-s,   mercy? — No 

more  have  I  ; 
Bat  as  the  seasons,   and  gravitation — and  as    all  the 

appointed  days,  that  -forgive  not, 
I  dispense  from  this  side  judgments  inexorable,  without 

the  least  remorse. 


Consolator  most  mild,  the  promis'd  one  advancing, 
With  gentle  hand  extended — the  mightier  "God  am  I, 
Foretold   by  prophets   and   poets,  in   their  most  rapt. 

prophecies  and  poems  ; 
From  this  side,  lo  !  the  Lord  Christ  gazes — lo  !  Hermes 

I— lo !  mine  is  Hercules'  face  ; 
All  sorrow,  labor,  suffering,  I,  tallying  it,  absorb  in  m}'- 

self ; 
Many  times  have  I  been  rejected,  taunted,  put  in  prison, 

and  crucified — and  many  times  shall  be  again  ; 


Chanting  inn  Squake  Deific.  61 

All  tlie  vrorld  liavo  I  given  up  for  my  clear  brollicrs' 
and  sisters'  sake — for  the  sonl's  sake  ; 

Wending  my  way  throTigli  the  homes  of  men,  rich  or 
poor,  with  the  kiss  of  affection  ; 

For  I  am  affection — I  am  the  cheer-bringing  God,  vath 
hope,  and  all-enclosing  Charity  ; 

(Conqueror  yet — for  before  me  all  the  armies  and  sol- 
diers ojf  the  earth  shall  yet  bow — and  all  the 
weapons  of  Vv'ar  become  impotent  :) 

With  indulgent  words,  as  to  childi'eu — with  fresh  and 
sane  v/ords,  mine  only  ; 

Young  and  strong  I  pass,  knowing  well  I  am  destin'd 
myself  to  an  early  death  : 

But  my  Charity  has  no  death — my  Wisdom  dies  not, 
neither  early  nor  late. 

And  my  sweet  Love,  bequeath'd  here  and  elsewhere, 
never  dies. 

3 

Aloof,  dissatisfied,  plotting  revolt, 

Comrade  of  criminals,  brother  of  slaves, 

Crafty,  despised,  a  drudge,  ignorant. 

With  sudra  face  and  worn  brow,  black,  but  in  the  depths 

of  my  heart,  proud  as  any  ; 
Lifted,  now  aud  always,    against   whoever,    scorning, 

assumes  to  rule  me  ; 
Morose,  full  of  guile,  full  of  reminiscences,  brooding, 

with  many  wiles, 
(Though  it  was  thought  I  was  baffled   and   dispell'd, 

and  my  wiles  done — but  that  will  never  be  ;) 
Defiant,  I,  Satan,  still  live — still   utter  words — in  new 

lands  duly  appearing,  (and  old  ones  also  ;) 
Permanent  here,  from  my  side,  warlike,  equal  with  any, 

real  as  any. 
Nor  time,  nor  change,  shall  ever  change  me  or  my  v/ords. 


Santa  Spikita,  breather,  life, 
Beyond  the  light,  lighter  than  light, 


62  Passage  to  Ikdia. 

Beyond  the  flames  of  hell — ^joyous,  leaping  easily  above 

heU; 
Beyond    Paradise — perfumed   solely   vrilh    mine    own 

perfume  ; 
Including  all  hfe  on  earth — touching,  including  God — 

including  Saviour  and  Satan  ; 
Ethereal,  pervading  all,  (for  without  me,  what  were  all  ? 

what  were  Grod?) 
Essence  of  forms — life  of  the  real  identities,  permanent, 

positive,  (namely  the  unseen,) 
Life  of  the  great  round  world,  the  sun  and  stars,  and  of 

man — I,  the  general  Soul, 
Here  the  square  finishing,  the  solid,  I  the  most  solid, 
Breathe  my  breath  also  through  these  songs. 


Leaves  of  Gbass. 

WHISPERS 

OF 

HEAVENLY    DEATH. 

WHISPERS  OF  HEAVENLY  DEATH. 

'  Whispers  of  heavenly  death,  mnrmur'cl  I  hear ; 

Labial  gossip  of  night — sibilant  chorals  ; 

Footsteps  gently  ascending — mystical  breezes,  wafted 

soft  and  low  ; 
Eipples  of  unseen  rivers — tides  of   a  current,  flowing, 

forever  flowing  ; 
(Or  is  it  the  plashing  of  tears  ?  the  measureless  waters 

of  human  tears  ?) 

*  I  see,  just  see,  skyward,  gxeat  cloud-masses  ; 
Mournfully,  slowly  they  roll,  silently  swelling  and  mix- 
in  o*  • 
With,  at  times,  a  half-dimm'd,  sadden'd,  far-off  stai'. 
Appearing  and  disappearing. 

^  (Some    parturition,   rather — some  solemn,  immortnl 

birth  : 
On  the  frontiers,  to  eyes  impenetrable, 
Some  Soul  is  passing  over.) 


64  Passage  to  Ikdia. 

BAREST  THOU  NOW,  O  SOUL. 


Daeest  tliou  now,  O  Soul, 

Walk  put  witli  me  toward  tlie  Unknown  Region, 
"Wliere  neither  ground  is  for  the  feet,  nor  any  path  to 
follow  ? 

2 

No  map,  there,  nor  guide. 

Nor  voice  sounding,  nor  touch  of  human  hand, 
Nor  face  with  blooming  flesh,  nor  lips,  nor  eyes,  are  in 
that  land. 

3 

I  know  it  not,  O  Soul ; 
Nor  dost  thou — all  is  a  blank  before  us  ; 
All  waits,  undream'd  of,  in  that  region — that  inaccessi- 
ble land. 

4 

Till,  when  the  ties  loosen, 
All  but  the  ties  eternal.  Time  and  Space, 
Nor  darkness,  gravitation,  sense,  nor  any  bounds,  bound 
us. 

5 

Then  we  burst  forth — we  float, 
In  Time  and  Space,  O  Soul — i)repared  for  them  ; 
Equal,  equipt  at  last — (0  jov !  O  fruit  of  all !)  them  to 
fulfil,  O  Soul. 


OF  HIM  I  LOVE  DAY  AND  NIGHT. 

Of  him  I  love  day  and  night,  I  dream'd  I  heard  he  was 
dead  ; 

And  I  dream'd  I  went  where  they  had  buried  hira  I 
love — ^but  he  was  not  in  that  place  ; 

And  I  di-eam'd  I  wander'd,  searching  among  burial- 
places,  to  find  him  ; 


Whispers  or  Heavenly  Death.  Go 

And  I  found  that  every  place  was  a  burial  place  ; 

The  houses  full  of  life  were  equally  full  of  death,  (this 

house  is  now ;) 
The  streets,  the  shipping,  the  places  of  amusement,  the 

Chicago,  Boston,  Philadelphia,  the  Mannahatta, 

were  as  full  of  the  dead  as  of  the  living, 
And  fuller,  0  vastly  fuller,  of  the  dead  than  of  the 

living ;  ' 
— And  what  I  dream'd  I  will  henceforth  tell  to  every 

person  and  age, 
And  I  stand  henceforth  bound  to  v/hat  I  dream'd  ; 
And  now  I  am  willing  to  disregard  burial-places,  and 

dispense  with  them  ; 
And  if  the  memorials  of  the  dead  were  put  up  indiifer- 

eutly  everywhere,  even  in  the  room  where  I  eat 

or  sleep,  I  should  be  satisfied  ; 
And  if  the  corpse  of  any  one  I  love,  or  if  my  own  corpse, 

be  duly  render'd  to  powder,  and  pour'd  in  the 

sea,  I  shall  be  satisfied  ; 
Or  if  it  be  distributed  to  the  winds,  I  shall  be  satisfied. 


ASSURANCES. 

I  need  no  assurances — I  am  a  man  who  is  preoccupied, 
of  his  own  Soul  ; 

I  do  not  doubt  that  from  under  the  feet,  and  beside  the 
hands  and  face  I  am  cognizant  of,  are  now  look- 
ing faces  I  am  not  cognizant  of — calm  and  actual 
faces  ; 

I  do  not  doubt  but  the  majesty  and  beauty  of  the  world 
are  latent  in  any  iota  of  the  world  ; 

I  do  not  doubt  I  am  limitless,  and  that  the  universes 
are  limitless— in  vain  I  try  to  think  how  limitless  ; 

I  do  not  doubt  that  the  orbs,  and  the  systems  of  orbs, 
play  their  swift  sports  through  the  air  on  pur- 
pose— and  that  I  shall  one  day  be  eligible  to  do 
as  mach  as  they,  and  more  than  they  ; 


Gij  Passage  to  India. 

I  do  not  doubt  that  temporary  affairs  keep  on  and  on, 
millions  of  years  ; 

I  do  not  doubt  interiors  have  their  interiors,  and  exte- 
riors have  their  exteriors — and  that  the  eye-sight 
has  another  eye-sight,  and  the  hearing  another 
hearing,  and  the  voice  another  voice  ; 

I  do  not  doubt  that  the  joassionately-wept  deaths  of 
young  men  are  provided  for — and  that  the  deaths 
of  young  women,  and  the  deaths  of  httle  children, 
are  provided  for  ; 

(Did  you  think  Life  was  so  well  provided  for — and 
Death,  the  purport  of  all  Life,  is  not  well  pro- 
vided for  ?) 

I  do  not  doubt  that  wrecks  at  sea,  no  matter  what  the 
horrors  of  them — no  matter  whose  wife,  child, 
husband,  father,  lover,  has  gone  down,  are  pro- 
vided for,  to  the  minutest  points  ; 

I  do  not  doubt  that  whatever  can  possibly  happen,  any 
where,  at  any  time,  is  provided  for,  in  the  inher- 
ences of  things  ; 

I  do  not  think  Life  provides  for  all,  and  for  Time  and 
Space — but  I  believe  Heavenly  Death  provides 
for  all. 


YET,  YET,  YE  DOWNCAST  HOURS. 
1 

Yet,  yet,  yc  dov.aicast  hours,  I  know  ye  also  ; 
"Weights  of  lead,  how  ye  clog  and  cling  at  my  ankles ! 
Earth  to  a  chamber  of  mourning  turns — I  hear  the 

o'erweening,  mocking  voice, 
Matter  is  conqueror — mattery  triumphant  only,  continues 

onward. 


Despairing  cries  float  ceaselessly  toward  me, 
The  call  of  my  nearest  lover,  putting  forth,  alarm'd, 
uncertain, 


Whispses  or  Heavekly  Death.  67 

The  Sea  I  am  quickly  to  sail,  come  tell  me. 

Come  tell  me  ichere  lam  speeding — tell  me  my  destination. 


I  understand  your  anguish,  but  I  cannot  help  you, 

I  approach,  hear,  behold — the  sad  mouth,  the  look  out 

of  the  eyes,  your  mute  inquiry. 
Whither  I  go  from  the  heel  I  recline  on,  come  tell  me: 
Old  age,  alarm'd,  uncertain — A  young  woman's  voice, 

aj)pealing  to  me  for  comfort ; 
A  young  man's  voice,  Shall  I  not  escape  ? 


QUICKSAND    YEARS. 

Quicksand  years  that  whirl  me  I  know  not  whither. 

Your  schemes,  politics,  fail — lines  give  way — substances 
mock  and  elude  me  ; 

Only  the  theme  I  sing,  the  great  and  strong-possess'd 
Soul,  eludes  not ; 

One's-self  must  never  give  way — that  is  the  final  sub- 
stance— that  out  of  all  is  sure  ; 

Out  of  politics,  triumphs,  battles,  life — v/hat  at  last 
finally  remains  ? 

When  shows  break  up,  what  but  One's-Self  is  sure  ? 


THAT  MUSIC  ALWAYS  ROUND  ME. 

That  music  always  round  me,  unceasing,  unbeginning 
— yet  long  untaught  I  did  not  hear  ; 

But  now  the  chorus  I  hear,  and  am  elated ; 

A  tenor,  strong,  ascending,  with  power  and  health,  with 
glad  notes  of  day-break  I  hear, 

A  soprano,  at  intervals,  sailing  buoyantly  over  the  tops 
of  immense  waves, 


68  Passage  to  India. 

A  transparent  base,  sliuddering  lusciously  under  and 

through  the  universe, 
The  triumphant  tutti — the  funeral  wailings,  with  sweet 

flutes  and  violins — all  these  I  fill  myself  with  ; 
I  hear  not  the  volumes  of  sound  merely — I  am  moved 

by  the  exquisite  meanings, 
I  listen  to  the  different  voices  winding  in  and  out, 

striving,    contending   with    fiery   vehemence   to 

excel  each  other  in  emotion  ; 
I  do  not  think  the  performers  know  themselves — but 

now  I  think  I  beoin  to  know  them. 


AS  IF  A  PHANTOM  CARESS'D  ME. 

As  if  a  phantom  caress'd  me, 

I  thought  I  was  not  alone,  walking  here  by  the  shore  ; 

But  the  one  I  thought  was  with  me,  as  now  I  walk  by 

the  shore — the  one  I  loved,  that  caress'd  me. 
As  I  lean  and  look  through  the  ghmmering  light — that 

one  has  utterly  disappear'd. 
And  those  appear  that  are  hateful  to  me,  and  mock  me. 


HERE,  SAILOR! 

"What  ship,  puzzled  at  sea,  cons  for  the  tnie  reckon- 
ing? 

Or,  coming  in,  to  avoid  the  bars,  and  follow  the  chan- 
nel, a  perfect  pilot  needs  ? 

Here,  sailor !  Here,  ship  !  take  aboard  the  most  perfect 
pilot. 

Whom,  in  a  little  boat,  putting  off,  and  rowing,  I, 
hailing  you,  offer. 


Whispers  of  Heavenly  Death.  69 

A  NOISELESS,  PATIENT  SPIDER. 

*  A  NOISELESS  patient  spider, 

I  mark'd,    where,    on   a  little    promontory,    it   stood- 

isolated  ; 
Mark'd  how,  to  explore  the  vacant,  vast  surrounding, 
It  launch'd  forth  filament,   filament,    filament,    out  of 

itseK  ;     • 
Ever  unreehng  them — ever  tirelessly  speeding  them. 

®  And  you,  0  my  Soul,  where  you  stand, 

Surrounded,    surrounded,    in    measureless    oceans   of 

space. 
Ceaselessly  musing,  ventui-uig,  throwing, — seeking  the 

spheres,  to  connect  them  ; 
Tni  the  bridge  you  will  need,  be  form'd — till  the  ductile 

anchor  hold  ; 
Till  the  gossamer  thread  you  fling,  catch  somewhere, 

O  my  Soul. 


THE   LAST  INVOCATION. 

1 
At  the  last,  tenderly, 

From  the  walls  of  the  powerful,  fortress'd  house. 
From  the  clasj)  of  the  knitted  locks — fi-om  the  keep  of 

the  well-closed  doors, 
Let  me  be  wafted. 


Let  me  glide  noiselessly  forth  ; 

With  the   key   of   softness  unlock  the   locks — with   a 

whisper, 
Set  ope  the  doors,  O  Soul ! 


Tenderly  !  be  not  impatient ! 
(Strong  is  your  hold,  O  mortal  flesh  ! 
Strong  is  your  hold,  0  love.) 


70  Passage  to  India. 


AS   I  WATCH'D   THE   PLOUGHMAN   PLOUGH- 
ING. 

As  I  watcli'd  tlie  ploughman  ploughiag, 

Or  the  sower  sowing-  in  the  fields — or  the  harvester 
harvesting, 

I  saw  there  too,  O  life  and  death,  your  analogies  : 

(Life,  life  is  the  tillage,  and  Death  is  the  harvest  accord- 
ing.) 


PENSIVE  AND  FALTERING. 

Pensive  and  faltering, 

The  words,  the  dead,  I  write  ; 

For  living  are  the  Dead  ; 

(Haply  the  only  living,  only  real, 

And  I  the  apparition — I  the  spectre.) 


Leaves  of  Grass. 


SEA-SHORE  MEMORIES. 


OUT    OF    THE    CRADLE    ENDLESSLY 
ROCKING. 


'  Out  of  tlie  cradle  endlessly  rocking, 
Out  of  the  mocking-bird's  throat,  the  musical  shuttle. 
Out  of  the  Ninth-month  midnight, 
Over  the  sterile  sands,  and  the  fields  beyond,  where  the 
child,   leaving  his   bed,  wander'd   alone,   bare- 
headed, barefoot, 
Down  from  the  shower'd  halo, 

tip  from  the  mystic  play  of  shadows,  twining  and  twist- 
ing as  if  they  were  aHve, 
Out  from  the  patches  of  briers  and  blackberries. 
From  the  memories  of  the  bird  that  chanted  to  me. 
From  youi"   memories,   sad    brother — from    the   fitful 

risings  and  fallings  I  heard. 
From  under    that    yellow  half-moon,  late-risen,   and 

swollen  as  if  with  tears, 
From  those  beginning  notes  of  sickness  and  love,  there 

in  the  transparent  mist. 
From  the  thousand  responses  of  my  heart,  never  to 

cease, 
From  the  myriad  thence-arous'd  words. 
From  the  word  stronger  and  more  delicious  than  any, 
From  such,  as  now  they  start,  the  scene  revisiting, 
As  a  flock,  twittering,  rising,  or  overhead  passing. 
Borne  hither — ere  all  eludes  me,  hurriedly, 
A  man — yet  by  these  tears  a  little  boy  again, 


72  Passage  to  India. 

Throwing  myself  on  the  sand,  confronting  the  waves, 
I,  chanter  of  pains  and  joys,  uniter  of  here  and  hereafter. 
Taking    all    hints   to   use   them — but    swiftly   leaping 

beyond  them, 
A  reminiscence  sino-. 


^  Once,  Paumanok, 

"When  the  snows  had  melted — when  the  lilac-scent  was 

in    the    air,    and    the    Fifth-month    grass  was 

growing, 
Up  this  sea-shore,  in  some  briers. 
Two  guests  fi'om  Alabama — two  together. 
And  their  nest,  and  four  light-green  eggs,  sjootted  with 

brown, 
And  every  day  the  he-bird,  to  and  fro,  near  at  hand, 
And  every  day  the  she-bird,  crouch'd  on  her  nest,  silent, 

with  bright  eyes. 
And  every  day  I,  a  curious  boy,  never  too  close,  never 

disturbing  them. 
Cautiously  jDeering,  absorbing,  translating. 

3 

*  Shine!  shine!  shine! 

Pour  doivn  your  xoarmth,  great  Sun  ! 

While  ive  bask — ive  tiuo  together. 

^  Two  together  ! 

Winds  blow  South,  or  winds  hloio  North, 
Day  come  white,  or  night  come  black, 
Home,  or  rivers  and  mountains  from  home, 
Singing  all  time,  minding  no  time, 
While  we  two  kee})  together. 


'  Till  of  a  sudden. 

May-be  kill'd,  unknown  to  her  mate, 

One  forenoon  the  she-bird  crouch'd  not  on  the  nest. 

Nor  return'd  that  afternoon,  nor  the  next, 

Nor  ever  appear'd  again. 


Sea-Shore  Memokies.  73 

And  tbeuceforwarcl,  all  summer,  in  the  sound  of  the 
sea, 

And  at  night,  under  the  full  of  the  moon,  in  calmer 
weather. 

Over  the  hoarse  surging  of  the  sea, 

Or  Hitting  from  brier  to  brier  by  day, 

I  saw,  I  heard  at  intervals,  the  remaining  one,  the  he- 
bird, 

The  sohtary  guest  from  Alabama. 


'  Blow!  blow!  blow! 

Blow  up,  sea-icinds,  along  Paumanoh's  shore! 

I  wait  and  I  wait,  till  you  blow  my  mate  to  me. 


6 

®  Yes,  when  the  stars  glisten' d. 

All  night  long,  on  the  prong  of  a  moss-scallop'd  stake, 

Down,  almost  amid  the  slapping  waves. 

Sat  the  lone  singer,  wonderful,  causing  tears. 

^  He  call'd  on  his  mate  ; 

He  pour'd  forth  the  meanings  which  I,  of  all  men,  know. 

'"  Yes,  my  brother,  I  know  ; 

The  rest  might  not — but  I  have  treasur'd  every  note  ; 

For  once,  and  more   than   once,  dimly,  down  to  the 

beach  gliding, 
Silent,  avoiding  the  moonbeams,  blending  myself  with 

the  shadows. 
Recalling  now    the    obscure   shapes,   the   echoes,   the 

sounds  and  sights  after  their  sorts, 
The  white  arms  out  in  the  breakers  tirelessly  tossing, 
I,  wdth  bare  feet,  a  child,  the  wind  wafting  my  hau", 
Listen'd  long  and  long. 

"  Listen'd,  to  keep,  to  sing — now  translating  the  notes, 
Following  you,  my  brother. 
4 


74  Passage  to  India. 

7 
'-  Soothe!  soothe!  soothe! 
Close  on  its  ivave  soothes  the  icave  behind, 
And  again  another  Jiehind,  embracing  and  lapping,  every 

one  close, 
But  my  love  soothes  net  me,  not  me. 

'■''  Loio  hangs  the  moon — it  rose  late  ; 

0  it  is  lagging— 0  I  think  it  is  heavy  ivith  love,  ivitli  love. 

'^  0  madly  the  sea  jyushes,  pushes  tipon  the  land. 
With  love — ivith  love. 

'^  0  night !  do  I  not  see  my  love  fluttering  out  there  among 

the  breakers  ? 
What  is  that  little  black  thing  I  see  there  in  the  white? 

^^  Loud!  loud!  loud! 

Loud  1  call  to  you,  my  love  ! 

High  and  clear  I  shoot  my  voice  over  the  waves; 

Surely  you  must  know  ivho  is  here,  is  here  ; 

You  must  know  ivho  I  am,  my  love. 

"  Low-hanging  moon  ! 

What  is  that  dusky  spot  in  your  brown  yellow? 

0  it  is  the  shape,  the  shaj^e  of  my  mate  ! 

0  moon,  do  not  keep  her  from  me  any  longer. 

'^  Land  !  land  !  0  land  ! 

Whichever  zvay  I  turn,  0  I  think  you  coidd  give  me  my 

mate  back  again,  if  you  only  would ; 
For  I  am  almost  sure  I  see  her  dimly  whichever  way  Hook. 

"  0  rising  stars! 

Perhaps  the  one  I  want  so  much  icill  rise,  loill  rise  with 
some  of  you. 

^"  0  throat  !  0  trembling  throat  ! 

Sound  clearer  through  the  atmosphere  ! 

Pierce  the  woods,  the  earth ; 

Somewhere  listening  to  catch  you,  must  be  the  one  I icant. 


Sea-Shoee  Memokies.  75 

^'  Sliake  Old,  carols  ! 

Solitary  here — the  night's  carols  ! 

Carols  of  lonesome  lore  !  Death's  carols  ! 

Carols  under  that  lagging,  yellow,  loaning  moon  ! 

O,  under  that  moon,  lohere  she  droops  almost  doivn  into  the 

sea! 
0  I'ccJcless,  despairing  carols. 

^-  But  soft  !  sink  low  ; 

Soft !  Id  me  Just  murmur ; 

And  do  you  ivait  a  moment,  you  husky-noised  sea  ; 

For  somewhere  I  believe  I  heard  my  mate  responding  to 
me, 

So  faint — I  must  he  still,  be  still  to  listen; 

But  not  altogether  still,  for  then  she  might  not  come  imme- 
diately to  me. 

^^  Hither,  my  love  ! 

Here  I  am  !  Here  ! 

With  this  just-sustain' d  note  I  announce  myself  to  you  ; 

This  gentle  call  is  for  you,  my  love,  for  you. 

^■*  Do  not  be  decoy'd  elseichere  ! 
That  is  the  ichistle  of  the  luind — it  is  not  my  voice  ; 
Tliat  is  the  fluttering,  the  fluttering  of  the  spray  ; 
TJiose  are  the  shadoics  of  leaves. 

^^  0  darkness  !  0  in  vain  ! 

0  I  am  very  sick  and  sorroitful. 

-*  0  broivn  halo  in  the  sky,  near  the  moon,  drooping  upon 

the  sea  ! 
0  troubled  reflection  in  the  sea  ! 
0  throat  !  0  throbbing  heart  ! 
0  all — and  I  singing  uselessly,  uselessly  all  the  night. 

^''  Yet  I  murmur,  murmur  on  ! 

0  murmurs — you  yourselves  make  me  continue  to  sing,  I 
know  not  ichy. 


76  Passage  to  Indli. 

■''  0  past  !  0  life  !  0  songs  of  joy  ! 
In  the  air — in  the  ivoods — over  fields; 
Loved  !  loved  !  loved  !  loved  !  loved  ! 
But  my  love  no  more,  no  more  with  me  ! 
We  two  together  no  more. 


^"  The  aria  sinking  ; 

All  else  continuing — tlie  stars  shining, 

The  winds  blowing — the  notes  of  the  bird  continuous 
echoing, 

With  angry  moans  the  fierce  old  mother  incessantly 
moaning, 

On  the  sands  of  Paumanok's  shore,  gray  and  rustling ; 

The  yellow  half-moon  enlarged,  sagging  down,  droop- 
ing, the  face  of  the  sea  almost  touching  ; 

The  boy  extatic — with  his  bare  feet  the  waves,  with  his 
liair  the  atmosphere  dallying, 

The  love  in  the  heart  long  pent,  now  loose,  now  at  last 
tumultuously  bursting. 

The  aria's  meaning,  the  ears,  the  Soul,  swiftly  deposit- 
ing, 

The  strange  tears  down  the  cheeks  coursing, 

The  colloquy  there — the  trio — each  uttering. 

The  undertone  —  the  savage  old  mother,  incessantly 
crying, 

To  the  boy's  Soul's  questions  sullenly  timing — some 
drown'd  secret  hissing. 

To  the  outsetting  bard  of  love. 


9 

^"  Demon  or  bird  !   (said  the  bo^-'s  soul,) 

Is  it  indeed  toward  your  mate  you  sing?  or  is  it  mostly 

to  me  ? 
For  I,  that  was  a  child,  my  tongue's  use  sleeping, 
Now  I  have  heard  you. 

Now  in  a  moment  I  know  what  I  am  for — I  awake, 
And  already  a  thousand  singers — a  thousand  songs, 

clearer,  louder  and  more  sorrowful  than  yotu'S, 


Sea-Shobe  Memories.  77 

A  tliousancl  warbling  echoes  Lave  started  to  life  witliin 

me, 
Never  to  die. 


"'  O  you  singer,  solitarjj  singing  by  yourself — project- 
ing me  ; 

O  solitary  me,  listening — never  more  sliall  I  cease  per- 
petuating you  ; 

Never  more  shall  I  escape,  never  more  the  reverbera- 
tions, 

Never  more  the  cries  of  unsatisfied  love  be  absent  from 
me, 

Never  again  leave  me  to  be  the  peaceful  child  I  was 
before  what  there,  in  the  night, 

By  the  sea,  under  the  yellow  and  sagging  moon. 

The  messenger  there  arous'd — the  lire,  the  sweet  hell 
within, 

The  unlvnown  want,  the  destiny  of  me. 

"-  O  give  me  the  clew  !  (it  lurks  in  the  night  here  some- 
where ;) 

O  if  I  am  to  have  so  much,  let  me  have  more  ! 

O  a  word  !  O  what  is  my  destination  ?  (I  fear  it  is  hence- 
forth chaos  ;) 

O  how  joys,  dreads,  convolutions,  human  shapes,  and  all 
shapes,  spring  as  from  graves  around  me  ! 

O  phantoms  !  you  cover  all  the  land  and  all  the  sea  ! 

O  I  cannot  see  in  the  dimness  whether  you  smile  or 
frown  upon  me  ; 

O  vajDor,  a  look,  a  word !  O  well-beloved ! 

O  you  dear  women's  and  men's  phantoms ! 

^^  A  word  then,  (for  I  will  conquer  it,) 

The  word  final,  superior  to  all. 

Subtle,  sent  up — what  is  it  ? — I  listen  ; 

Ai-e  you  whispering  it,  and  have  been  all  the  time,  you 

sea- waves  ? 
Is  that  it  from  your  Hquid  rims  and  wet  sands  ? 


78  Passage  to  India. 


10 


^■'  Wliereto  answering,  tlie  sea, 

Delaying  not,  iitirryiug  not, 

Whiisiier'd  me  throngli  the  night,  and  very  plainly  be- 
fore daybreak, 

Lisp'd  to  me  the  low  and  delicious  word  Death  ; 

And  again  Death — ever  Death,  Death,  Death, 

Hissing  melodious,  neither  like  the  bird,  nor  like  my 
arous'd  child's  heart, 

But  edging  near,  as  privately  for  nie,  rustling  at  my 
feet, 

Creeping  thence  steadily  up  to  my  ears,  and  laving  me 
softly  all  over. 

Death,  Death,  Death,  Death,  Death. 

®^  "Which  I  do  not  forget. 

But  fuse  the  song  of  my  dusky  demon  and  brother, 

That  he  sang  to  me  in  the  moonlight  on  Paumanok's 

gray  beach, 
With  the  thousand  responsive  songs,  at  random. 
My  own  songs,  awaked  from  that  hour  ; 
And  with  them  the  key,  the  word  up  from  the  waves. 
The  word  of  the  sweetest  song,  and  all  songs. 
That  strong  and  delicious  word  which,  ci"eej)ing  to  my 

feet. 
The  sea  whisper'd  me. 


ELEMENTAL  DRIFTS. 

1 

'  Elemental  drifts ! 

How  I  wish  I  could  impress  others  as  jon  have  just 
been  impressing  me ! 

^  As  I  ebb'd  with  an  ebb  of  the  ocean  of  hfe, 
As  I  wended  the  shores  I  know. 


Sea-Shoke  Memories.  79 

As  I  walk'cl  where  the  ripples  continually  wash  you, 
Paumauok, 

Where  they  rustle  up,  hoarse  and  sibilant, 

Where  the  fierce  old  mother  endlessly  cries  for  her 
castaways, 

I,  musing,  late  in  the  autumn  day,  gazing  off  south- 
ward. 

Alone,  held  by  this  eternal  Self  of  me,  out  of  the  pride 
of  which  I  utter  my  poems. 

Was  seiz'd  by  the  spirit  that  trails  in  the  lines  under- 
foot. 

In  the  rim,  the  sediment,  that  stands  for  all  the  water 
and  all  the  laud  of  the  globe. 

^  Fascinated,  my  eyes,  reverting  from  the  south,  dropt, 
to  follow  those  slender  winrows. 

Chaff,  straw,  splinters  of  wood,  weeds,  and  the  sea- 
gluten, 

Scum,  scales  from  shining  rochs,  leaves  of  salt-lettuce, 
left  by  the  tide  : 

Miles  walking,  the  sound  of  breaking  waves  the  other 
side  of  me, 

Paumanok,  there  and  then,  as  I  thought  the  old 
thought  of  likenesses. 

These  you  presented  to  me,  you  fish-shaped  island. 

As  I  wended  the  shores  I  know, 

As  I  walk'd  with  that  eternal  Self  of  me,  seeking  types. 

2 

*  As  I  wend  to  the  shores  I  know  not. 

As  I  list  to  tlie  dirge,  the  voices  of  men  and  women 

wreck'd, 
As  I  inhale  the  impalpable  breezes  that  set  in  upon 

me. 
As  the  ocean  so  mysterious  rolls  toward  me  closer  and 

closer, 
I,   too,  but   signify,  at   the  utmost,  a  little  wash'd-up 

drift, 
A  few  sands  and  dead  leaves  to  gather, 
Gather,  and  merge  myself  as  part  of  the  sands   and 

drift. 


80  Passage  to  India. 

*  O  baffled,  bnlk'd,  bent  to  tlie  veiy  earth, 

Oppress'd  with  myself  that  I  have  dared  to  open  my 

mouth, 
Aware  now,  that,  amid  all  that  blab  whose  echoes  recoil 

upon  me,  I   have  not  once  had  the  least   idea 

who  or  what  I  am, 
But   that   before  all  my  insolent  poems  the   real  Me 

stands    yet    untouch'd,    untold,    altogether  un- 

reach'd, 
"Withdrawn  far,  mocking  me  v/ith  moch-congratulatory 

signs  and  bows, 
With  peals  of  distant  ironical  laughter  at  every  word  I 

have  written, 
Pointing  in  silence  to  these  sougs,  and  then  to  the  sand 

beneath. 

''  Now  I  perceive  I  have  not  understood  anything — not 
a  single  object^and  that  no  man  ever  can. 

'  I  perceive  Natiu'e,  here  in  sight  of  the  sea,  is  taking- 
advantage  of  me,  to  dart  upon  me,  and  sting  me. 
Because  I  have  dared  to  open  my  mouth  to  sing  at  all. 


®  You  oceans  both !  I  close  with  you  ; 

We  murmur  ahke  reproachfully,  rolling  oiu'  sands  and 

drift,  knowing  not  why, 
These  httle  shreds  indeed,  standing  for  you  and  me 

and  all. 

°  You  friable  shore,  with  trails  of  debris  ! 

You  fish-shaped  island  !    I  take  what  is  underfoot  ; 

What  is  yours  is  mine,  my  father. 

"^  I  too  Paumanok, 

I  too  have  bubbled  up,  floated  the  measureless  float, 

and  been  wash'd  on  your  shores  ; 
I  too  am  but  a  trail  of  drift  and  debris, . 
I  too  leave   little  wrecks  upon  you,  you  fish-shaped 

island. 


Se^v-Shoee  MEMcrjES.  81 

"  I  tlirovr  myself  upon  your  breast,  my  father, 
I  cling  to  you  so  that  you  cannot  unloose  me, 
I  hold  you  so  firm,  till  you  answer  me  something. 

'■  Kiss  me,  my  father, 

Touch  me  with  your  lips,  as  I  touch  those  I  love. 
Breathe  to  me,  while  I  hold  you  close,  the  secret  of  the 
miumuring  I  envy. 


'^  Ebb,  ocean  of  life,  (the  flow  will  retiu-n,) 
Cease  not  your  moaning,  you  fierce  old  mother. 
Endlessly  cry  for  your  castaways — but  fear  not,  deny 

not  me, 
Rustle  not  up  so  hoarse  and  angry  against  my  feet,  as  I 

touch  you,  or  gather  from  you. 

'^  I  mean  tenderly  by  you  and  all, 

I  gather  for  myself,  and  for  this  phantom,  looking  dov/n 
where  we  lead,  and  following  me  and  mine. 

''  Me  and  mine  ! 

We,  loose  winrov;s,  little  corpses, 

Froth,  snowy  white,  and  bubbles, 

(See !  from  my  dead  lips  the  ooze  exuding  at  last ! 

See — the  prismatic  colors,  glistening  and  rolling!) 

Tufts  of  straw,  sands,  fragments, 

Buoy'd  hither  from  mauy  moods,  one  contradicting 
another, 

From  the  storm,  the  long  calm,  the  darkness,  the  swell; 

Musing,  pondering,  a  breath,  a  briny  tear,  a  dab  of 
liquid  or  soil  ; 

Up  just  as  much  out  of  fathomless  workings  fermented 
and  thrown  ; 

A  limp  blossom  or  two,  torn,  just  as  much  over  waves 
floating,  drifted  at  random  ; 

Just  as  much  for  us  that  sobbing  dirge  of  Nature  ; 

Just  as  much,  whence  we  came,  that  blare  of  the  cloud- 
trumpets  ; 


82  Passage  to  India. 

We,  capricious,  brotight  liither,  we  know  not  wlience, 

spread  out  before  you, 
You,  up  there,  walking  or  sitting, 
Wiioever  you  are — we  too  lie  in  drifts  at  your  feet. 


TEARS. 

Tears  !  tears  !  tears  ! 

In  the  night,  in  solitude,  tears  : 

On  the  white  shore  dripping,  dripping,  suck'd  in  by  the 

sand  ; 
Tears — not  a  star  shining — all  dark  and  desolate  ; 
Moist  tears  from  the  eyes  of  a  muffled  head  : 
— O  who  is  that  ghost  ? — that  form  in  the  dark,  with 

tears  ? 
"What  shapeless  lump  is  that,  bent,  erouch'd  there  on 

the  sand  ? 
Streaming  tears — sobbing  tears — throes,  choked  with 

wild  cries  ; 
O  storm,  embodied,  rising,  careering,  with  swift  steps 

along  the  beach  ; 
O  wild  and  dismal  night  storm,  with  wind !   O  belching 

and  desj)erate  ! 
O   shade,  so   sedate  and  decorous  by  day,  with  calm 

countenance  and  regulated  pace  ; 
But  away,  at  night,  as  you  fly,  none  looking — 0  then 

the  unloosen'd  ocean, 
Of  tears  !  tears  !  tears  ! 


ABOARD,  AT  A  SHIP'S  HELM. 

'  Aboaed,  at  a  ship's  helm, 

A  young  steersman,  steering  with  care. 

^  A  bell  through  fog  on  a  sea-coast  dolefully  ringing, 
An  ocean-bell — O  a  warning  bell,  rock'd  by  the  waves. 


Sea-Shoke  Memceies.  83 

^  0  you  give  good  notice  indeed,  you  bell  by  the  sea- 
reefs  ringing', 
Ringing,  ringing,  to  warn  the  ship  from  its  wreck-place. 


^  For,  as  on  the  alert,  O  steersman,  yon  mind  the  bell's 

admonition, 
The  bows   turn, — the  freighted  ship,  tacking,  speeds 

away  under  her  gray  sails. 
The  beautiful  and  noble  ship,  with  all  her  precious 

wealth,  speeds  away  gaily  and  safe. 

*  But  O  the  shij:),  the  immortal  ship !  O  ship  aboard  the 
ship ! 

O  ship  of  the  body — ship  of  the  soul — voyaging,  voyag- 
ing, voyaging. 


ON  THE  BEACH,  AT  NIGHT. 

1 

'  On  the  beach,  at  night. 
Stands  a  child,  with  her  father. 
Watching  the  east,  the  autumn  sky. 

^  Up  through  the  darkness. 

While  ravening  clouds,   the    buiial   clouds,   in  black 

masses  sjoreading. 
Lower,  sullen  and  fast,  athwart  and  down  the  sky. 
Amid  a  transparent  clear  belt  of  ether  yet  left  in  the 

east. 
Ascends,  large  and  calm,  the  lord-star  Jupiter  ; 
And  nigh  at  hand,  only  a  very  httle  above. 
Swim  the  delicate  brothers,  the  Pleiades.. 


^  From  the  beach,  the  child,  holding  the  hand  of  her 
father, 

Those  burial-clouds  that  lower,  victorious,  soon  to  de- 
vour all, 

Watching,  silently  weeps. 


84  Passage  to  India. 

*  Weep  not,  cliild, 

Weep  not,  my  darling', 

With  these  kisses  let  me  remove  your  tears ; 

The  ravening  clouds  shall  not  long  be  victorious, 

They  shall  not  long  possess  the  sky — shall  devour  the 

stars  only  in  apparition  : 
Jupiter  shall  emerge — be  jiatient — watch  again  another 

night — the  Pleiades  shall  emerge, 
The}^  are  immortal— all  those  stars,  both  silvery  and 

golden,  shall  shine  out  again, 
The  great  stars  and  the  iitrle  ones  shall  shine  out  again 

— they  endure  ; 
The  vast  immortal  suns,  and  the  long-enduring  pensive 

moons,  shall  again  shine. 


^  Then,  dearest  child,  mournest  thou  only  for  Jupiter'? 
Considerest  thou  alone  the  burial  of  the  stars  ? 

"  Something  there  is, 

(With  my  lips  soothing  thee,  adding,  I  vrhi^^per, 

I  give  thee  the  first  suggestion,  the  problem  and  indi- 
rection,) 

Something  theie  is  more  innnortal  even  than  the  stars, 

(Many  the  burials,  many  the  daj'S  and  nights,  passing 
away,) 

Something  that  shall  endure  longer  even  than  lustrous 
Jupiter, 

Longer  than  sun,  or  any  revolving  satellite, 

Or  the  radiant  brothers,  the  Pleiades. 


THE  WORLD  EELOW  THE  BRINE. 

The  world  below  the  brine  ; 

Forests  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea — the  branches  and 

leaves. 
Sea-lettuce,  vast  hchens,  strange  flowers  and  seeds — 

the  thick  tangle,  the  openings,  and  the  j)ink  turf, 


SeA-ShoEI]    RlEJIOKlES.  85 

Difi'ereiiu  colors,  pale  gray  and  green,  p;irple,  \vliite, 

and  gold — the  play  of  light  through  the  v/ater, 
Dumb  swimmers  there  among  the  rocks — coral,  gluten, 

grass,  rushes — and  the  aliment  of  the  svvimmers. 
Sluggish  existences  grazing  there,  suspended,  or  slowly 

crawling  close  to  the  bottom. 
The  sperm-whale  at  the  surface,  blowing  air  and  spray, 

or  disj)6rtin.g  with  his  flutes. 
The  leaden-eyed  shark,  the  walrus,  the  turtle,  the  hairy 

sea-leopard,  and  the  sting-ray  ; 
Passions  there — wars,  pursuits,  tribes — sight  in  those 

ocean-depths  —  breathing    that    thick-breathing 

air,  as  so  many  do  ; 
The  change  thence  to  the  sight  here,  and  to  the  subtle 

air  breathed  by  beings  like  us,  who  walk  this 

sphere  ; 
The  change  onward  from  ours,  to  that  of  beings  who 

walk  other  spheres. 


-«»!>iBi2)S*S®©a>^^- 


ON  THE  BEACH  AT  NIGHT  ALONE. 

'  On  the  beach  at  night  alone. 

As  the  old  mother  svv'ays  her  to  and  fro,  singing  her 

husky  song, 
As  I  watch  the  bright  stars  shining— I  think  a  thought 

of  the  clef  of  the  universes,  and  of  the  future. 

^  A  VAST  SIMILITUDE  interlocks  all, 

All  s^oheres,  grown,  ungrown,  small,  large,  suns,  moons, 

planets,  comets,  asteroids. 
Ail  the  substances  of  the  same,  and  all  that  is  spiritual 

upon  the  same. 
All  distances  of  place,  however  wide. 
All  distances  of  time — all  inanimate  forms. 
All  Souls — all  living  bodies,  though  they  be  ever  so 

different,  or  in  different  worlds. 
All  gaseous,  watery,  vegetable,  mineral  processes — the 

fishes,  tlie  brutes. 


86  Passage  to  India. 

All  men  and  women — me  also  ; 

All  nations,  colors,  barbarisms,  civilizations,  languages ; 

All  identities  that  have  existed,  or  may  exist,  on  this 

globe,  or  any  globe  ; 
All  lives  and  deaths — all  of  the  past,  present,  future  ; 
This  vast  similitude  spans  them,  and  always  has  spann'd, 

and  shall  forever  span  them,  and  compactly  liolcl 

them,  and  enclose  them. 


Leaves  of  Grass. 


A  CAROL  OF  HARVEST,  FOR  1867. 


'  A  SONG  of  tlie  good  green  gi-ass ! 

A  song  no  more  of  the  city  streets  ; 

A  song  of  farms — a  song  of  the  soil  of  fields. 

-  A  song  -with  the  smell  of  sun-dried  hay,  where  the 

nimble  pitchers  handle  the  pitch-fork  ; 
A  song  tasting  of  new  wheat,  and  of  fresh-husk'd  maize. 

2 

^  For  the  lands,  and  for  these  passionate  days,  and  for 

myself, 
Kow  I  awhile  return  to  thee,  O  soil  of  Autumn  fields, 
Reclining  on  thy  breast,  giving  myself  to  thee. 
Answering  the  pulses  of  thy  sane  and  equable  heart, 
Tuning  a  verse  for  thee. 

*  0  Earth,  that  hast  no  voice,  confide  to  me  a  voice ! 
O  harvest  of  my  lands !    O  boundless  summer  growths ! 
O  lavish,  brown,  parturient  earth  !    O  infinite,  teeming 

womb ! 
A  verse  to  seek,  to  see,  to  narrate  thee. 


Passage  to  India, 


^  Ever  upon  this  stage, 

Is  acted  God's  calm,  annual  drama, 

Gorgeous  processions,  songs  of  birds. 

Sunrise,  that  fullest  feeds  and  freshens  most  the  soul, 

The  heaving  sea,  the  waves  upon  the  shore,  the  musical, 

strong  waves, 
The  woods,   the  stalwart  trees,  the  slender,  tapering 

trees. 
The  flov/ers,  the  grass,  the  lilliirat,  countless  armies  of 

the  grass. 
The  heat,  the  showers,  the  measureless  pasturages, 
The  scenery  of  the  snows,  the  winds'  free  orchestra, 
The  stretching,   light-hung  roof   of  clouds — the  clear 

cerulean,  and  the  bulging,  silvery  fringes. 
The  high  dilating  stars,  the  placid,  beckoning  stars. 
The  moving  flocks  and  herds,  the  plains  and  emerald 

meadows. 
The  shows  of  all  the  varied  lands,  and  all  the  gTowths 

and  products. 


^  Fecund  America !     To  day. 

Thou  art  all  over  set  in  births  and  joys  ! 

Thou  groan'st  with  riches !  thy  wealth  clothes  thee  as 

with  a  swathing  garment ! 
Thou  laughest  loud  with  ache  of  great  possessions  ! 
A  myriad-twining  life,  lilie  interlacing  vines,  binds  all 

thy  vast  demestfe ! 
As  some  huge  ship,  freighted  to  water's  edge,  thou 

ridest  into  port ! 
As  rain  falls  from  the  heaven,  and  vapors  rise  from 

earth,  so  have  the  precious  values  fallen  upon 

thee,  and  risen  out  of  thee  ! 
Thou  envy  of  the  globe  !  thou  miracle  ! 
Thou,  bathed,  choked,  swimming  in  plenty ! 
Thou  lucky  Mistress  of  the  tranquil  barns  ! 
Thou  Prairie  Dame  that   sittest   in   the   middle,  and 

lookest  out  upon  thy  world,  and  lookest  East, 

and  lookest  West ! 


Lkwes  of  Geass.  89 

Dispensatress,  that  by  a  word  givest  a  thousand  rnile^ 
— that  giv'st  a  million  farms,  and  missest  noth- 
ing! 

Thou  All-Accep tress — thou  Hospitable — (thou  only  art 
hospitable,  as  God  is  hospitable.) 


'  When  late  I  sa'ng,  sad  was  my  voice  ; 

Sad  were  the  shows  around  me,  with  deafening  noises' 

of  hatred,  and  smoke  of  contiict ; 
In  the  midst  of  the  armies,  the  Heroes,  I  stood, 
Or  pass'd  with  slow  step  through  the  wounded  and 

dying. 

*  But  now  I  sing  not  War, 

Nor  the  measur'd  march  of  soldiers,  nor  the  tents  of 

camps, 
Nor  the  regiments  hastily  coming  up,  deploying  in  hue 

of  battle. 

'  No  more  the  dead  and  wounded  ; 

No  more  the  sad,  uunatur..!  shows  of  War. 

^°  Ask'd  room  those  flush'd  immortal  ranks  ?  the  first 

forth-stepping  armies? 
Ask  room,  alas,  the  ghastly  ranks — the  armies  dread 

that  follow'd. 

6 

"  (Pass — pass,  ye  proud  brigades  ! 

So   handsome,   dress'd  in  blue — with  yoiu-  tramping, 

sinewy  legs  ; 
With  your   shoulders   young   and   strong — with   yoiu' 

knapsacks  and  your  muskets  ; 
— How  elate  I  stood  and  watch'd  you,  where,  startiag 

off,  you  march'd ! 

'-  Pass  ; — then  rattle,  drums,  again  ! 
Scream,  you  steamers  on  the  river,  out  of  whistles  loud 
and  shrill,  yoar  salutes  ! 


/ 


90  Passage  to  India. 

For  an   army  lieave.s  in  sight — 0   another  gathering 

army ! 
Swarming,  traihng  on  the  rear — O  you  dread,  accruing 

army  ! 
O  you  regiments  so  piteous,  with  your  mortal  diarrhoea ! 

Avith  your  fever ! 
O  my  land's  maimed  darlings !  with  the  plenteous  bloody 

bandage  and  the  crutch  ! 
Lo  !  your  palhd  army  followed !) 


'^  But  on  these  days  of  brightness, 

On  the  far-stretching  beauteous  landscape,  the  roads 

and  lanes,  the  high-piled  farm-wagons,  and  the 

fruits  and  barns. 
Shall  the  dead  intrude  ? 

^"'  Ah,  the  dead  to  mc  mar  not — they  fit  well  in  Na- 
ture ; 

They  fit  very  well  in  the  landscape,  under  the  trees  and 
grass. 

And  along  the  edge  of  the  slcy,  in  the  horizon's  far 
margin. 

''  Nor  do  T  forget  you,  departed  ; 

Nor  in  winter  or  summer,  my  lost  ones  ; 

But  most,  in  the  open  air,  as  now,  when  my  soul  is 

rapt  and  at  peace — hke  pleasing  phantoms. 
Your  dear  memories,  rising,  ghde  silently  by  me. 


'"  I  saw  the  day,  the  return  of  the  Heroes  ; 

(Yet  the  Heroes  never  surpass'd,  shall  never  return  ; 

Them,  that  day,  I  saw  not.) 

"  I  saw  the  interminable  Corps — I  saw  the  processions 

of  armies, 
I  saw  them  approaching,  defiling  by,  with  divisions, 
Streaming  northward,  their  work  done,  camping  awhile 

in  clusters  of  mighty  camps. 


LriVves  of  Grass.  91 

'^  No  holiday  soldiers  ! — youthful,  yet  veterans  ; 
Worn,  swart,  handsome,  strong,  of  the  stock  of  home- 
stead and  workshop, 
Harden'd  of  many  a  long  campaign  and  sweaty  mai'ch, 
Inured  on  many  a  hard-fought,  bloody  field. 


'^  A  pause — the  armies  wait ; 

A  million  flush'd,  embattled  conquerors  wait ; 

The  w^orld,  too,  waits — then,  soft  as  breaking  night,  and 

sure  as  dawn. 
They  melt — they  disajipear, 

'"  Exult,  indeed,  O  lands !  victorious  lands  ! 

Not  there  your  victory,  on  those  red,  shuddering  fields  ; 

But  here  and  hence  your  victory. 

"^  Melt,  melt  away,  ye  armies !   disperse,  ye  blue-clad 

soldiers  ! 
Resolve  ye  back  again — give  up,  for  good,  your  deadly 

arms  ; 
Other  the  arms,  the  fields  henceforth  for  you,  or  South 

or  North,  or  East  or  West, 
With  saner  wars — sweet  w^ars — life-gi-vdng  wars. 

10 

"  Loud,  O  my  throat,  and  clear,  O  soul ! 

The  season  of  thanks,  and  the  voice  of  full-yielding  ; 

The  chant  of  joy  and  power  for  boundless  fertility. 

"^  All  till'd  and  untill'd  fields  expand  before  me  ; 
I  see  the  true  arenas  of  my  race — or  first,  or  last, 
Man's  innocent  and  strong  arenas. 

'*  I  see  the  Heroes  at  other  toils  ; 

I  see,  well-wielded  in  their  hands,  the  better  weapons. 


92  Passage  to  India. 

11 

■°  I  F.ee  -wliere  America,  Mother  of  All, 

Well-pleased,  with  full-spanning  eye,  gazes  forth,  dwells 

long, 
And  counts  the  varied  gathering  of  the  products. 

-^  Busy  the  far,  the  sunlit  panorama  ; 

Prairie,  orchard,  and  yellow  grain  of  the  North, 

Cotton  and  rice  of  the  South,  and  Louisianian  cane  ; 

Open,  ITU  seeded  fallows,  rich  fields  of  clover  and  tim- 
othy, 

Kine  and  horses  feeding,  and  droves  of  sheep  and 
swine, 

And  many  a  stately  river  flowing,  and  many  a  jocund 
brook. 

And  healthy  uplands  with  their  herby-perfumed  breezes, 

iind  the  good  green  grass — that  delicate  miracle,  the 
ever-recurring  grass. 


12 

^'  Toil  on,  Heroes  !  harvest  the  products ! 

Not  alone  on  those  warlike  fields,  the  Mother  of  All, 

With  dilated  form  and  lambent  eyes,  watch 'd  you. 

-^  Toil  on,  Pierces !    toil  well !     Handle   the  weapons 

well! 
The  Mother  of    All — yet   here,  as   ever,   she  watches 

you. 

-"  Well-pleased,  America,  thou  beholdest, 
Over  the  iields  of  the  West,  those  crawhng  monsters. 
The  human-divine  inventions,  the  labor-saving  imple- 
ments : 
Beholdest,  moving  in  every  direction,  imbued  as  with 

life,  the  revohdng  hay-rakes. 
The  steam-power  reaping-machines,  and  the  horse-power 
machines, 


Leaves  of  Grass.  93 

Tlie  engines,  thrashers  of  grain,  and  cleaners  of  gTain, 
well  separating  the  straw — the  nimble  work  of 
the  patent  pitch-fork  ; 

Beholdest  the  newer  saw-mill,  the  southern  cotton-gin, 
and  the  rice-cleanser. 

'"  Beneath  thy  look,  O  Maternal, 

With  these,  and  else,  and  with  their  own  strong  hands, 
the  Heroes  harvest. 

^^  All  gather,  and  all  harvest ; 

(Yet  but  for  thee,  O  Powerful !    not  a  scythe  might 

swing,  as  now,  in  security  ; 
Not  a  maize-stalk  dangle,  as  now,  its  silken  tassels  in 

peace.) 

14 

^-  Under  Thee  only  they  harvest — even  but  a  wisp  of 

hay,  under  thy  great  face,  only  ; 
Harvest  the  wheat  of  Ohio,  Illinois,  Wisconsin — every 

barbed  spear,  under  thee  ; 
Harvest  the  maize  of  Missouri,  Kentucky,  Tennessee — 

'    each  ear  in  its  light-green  sheath, 
Gather  the  hay  to   its  myriad  mows,  in  the  odorous, 

trauc^uil  barns, 
Oats  to  their  bins — the  white  potato,  the  buckwheat  of 

Michigan,  to  theirs  ; 
Gather  the  cotton  in  Mississippi  or  Alabama — dig  and 

hoard  the  golden,  the  sweet  potato  of  Georgia 

and  the  Carolinas, 
Clij)  the  wool  of  Cahfornia  or  Pennsylvania, 
Cut  the  flax  in  the  Middle  States,  or  hemp,  or  tobacco 

in  the  Borders, 
Pick  the  pea  and   the  bean,  or  pull  apples  from  the 

trees,  or  bunches  of  grapes  from  the  vines, 
Or  aught  that  ripens  in  all  These  States,  or  North  or 

South, 
Under  the  beaming  sun,  and  under  Thee. 


94  Passage  to  India. 


THE   SINGER  IN  THE  PRISON. 


0  sight  of  shame,  and  pain,  and  dole! 
0  fearful  thought — a  convict  Soul ! 

Rang  the  refrain  along  the  ball,  the  prison, 

Rose  to  the  roof,  the  vaults  of  heaven  above, 

Pouring  in  floods  of  melody,  in  tones  so  pensive,  sweet 

and  strong,  the  hko  whereof  was  never  heard, 
Reaching  the  far-off  sentry,  and  the  armed  guards,  who 

ceas'd  theu^  pacing, 
Making  the  hearer's  pulses  stop  for  extasy  and  awe. 


0  sight  of  pity,  gloom,  and  dole  ! 
0  pardon  me,  a  hapless  Soul ! 

The  sun  was  low  in  the  west  one  winter  day. 

When  down  a  narrow  aisle,  amid  the  thieves  and  out- 
laws of  the  land, 

(There  by  the  hundreds  seated,  sear-faced  murderers, 
wily  counterfeiters, 

Gather'd  to  Sunday  church  in  prison  walls — the  keep- 
ers round, 

Plenteous,  well-arm'd,  watching,  with  vigilant  eyes,) 

All  that  dark,  cankerous  blotch,  a  nation's  criminal 
mass, 

Cahnly  a  Lady  walk'd,  holding  a  httle  innocent  child 
by  either  hand. 

Whom,  seating  on  their  stools  beside  her  on  the  i)lat- 
form. 

She,  first  preluding  with  the  instrument,  a  low  and 
musical  prelude, 

In  voice  surpassing  all,  sang  forth  a  quaint  old 
hymn. 


Leaves  of  Gkass.  95 

a 

The  Hymn. 

A  Soul,  confined  by  bars  and.  bauds, 
Cries,  Help  !  O  help  !  and  wrings  her  hands  ; 
Blinded  her  eyes — bleeding  her  breast, 
Nor  pardon  finds,  nor  balm  of  rest. 

O  sight  of  shame,  and  pain,  and  dole! 
O  fearful  thought — a  convict  Soul! 

Ceaseless,  she  paces  to  and  fro  ; 
O  heart-sick  days !  O  nights  of  wo  ! 
Nor  hand  of  friend,  nor  loving  face  ; 
Nor  favor  comes,  nor  word  of  grace, 

0  sight  of  pity,  gloom,  and  dole  ! 
0  pardon  me,  a  hapAess  Soul ! 

It  was  not  I  that  sinn'd  the  sin. 
The  ruthless  Body  dragg'd  me  in  ; 
Though  long  I  strove  courageously. 
The  Body  v^^as  too  much  for  me. 

0  Life !  no  life,  hut  hittpr  dole! 
0  burning,  beaten,  baffled  Soul ! 

(Dear  prison'd  Soul,  bear  up  a  space. 
For  soon  or  late  the  certain  grace  ; 
To  set  thee  free,  and  bear  thee  home. 
The  Heavenly  Pardoner,  Death  shall  come. 

Convict  no  more — nor  shame,  nor  dole! 
Depart!  a  God-enfranchis' d  Soul!) 


The  singer  ceas'd  ; 

One  glance  swept  from  her  clear,  calm  eyes,  o'er  all 

those  up-turn'd  faces  ; 
Strange  sea  of  prison  faces — a  thousand  varied,  crafty, 

brutal,  seam'd  and  beauteous  faces  ; 


9G  Passage  to  Indlv. 

Then  rising,  passing  back  along  the  narrow  aisle  be- 
tween them, 
While  her  gown  toueh'd  them,  rusthng  in  the  silence, 
She  vanish'd  with  her  childi'en  in  the  dnsk. 


"While  upon  all,  convicts  and  armed  keepers,  ere  they 

stirr'd, 
(Convict  forgetting  prison,  keeper  his  loaded  pistol.) 
A  hush  and  i:)aiise  fell  down,  a  wondi'ous  minute. 
With  deep,   half-stifled   sobs,  and  sound  of  bad  men 

bow'd,  and  moved  to  weeping. 
And  youth's  convulsive  breathings,  memoi'ies  of  home. 
The  mother's  voice    in  lullab}^,   the   sister's  care,   the 

happy,  childhood, 
The  long-pent  spirit  rous'd  to  reminiscence  ; 
— A  wondrous  minute  then — But  after,  in  the  solitary 

night,  to  many,  many  there, 
Years  after: — even  in  the  hour  of  death — the  sad  refrain 

— the  tune,  the  voice,  the  words. 
Resumed — the  large,  calm  Lady  walks  the  nari'ow  aisle. 
The  wailing  melody  again — the  singer  in  the   prison 

sings  : 

0  sight  of  shame,  and  pain,  and  dole  ! 
0  fearful  thought — a  convict  Soid  ! 


WARBLE   FOR  LILAC  TIME. 

Warble  me  now,  for  joy  of  Lilac-time, 

Sorb  me,  O  tong-ue   and  lips,  for  Nature's  sake,   and 

sweet  life's  sake — and  death's  the  same  as  life's. 
Souvenirs  of  earliest  summer — birds'  e^gi^.,  and  the  first 

berries  ; 
Gather  the  welcome  signs,  (as  children,  with  pebbles,  oi 

stringing  shells  ;) 
Put  in  April  and  May — the  hylas  croaking  in  the  ponds 

— the  elastic  air. 


Leaves  op  Grass.  97 

Bees,  butterflies,  the  sparrow  witli  its  simple  notes, 

Blue-bird,  raid  darting  swallow— nor  forget  the  high- 
hole  flashing  his  golden  Avings, 

The  tranquil  sunny  haze,  the  clinging  smoke,  the  vapor. 

Spiritual,  airy  insects,  hummiDg  on  gossamer  wings, 

Shimmer  of  waters,  with  fish  in  them — the  cerulean 
above  ; 

All  that  is  jocund  and  sparMing — the  brooks  running, 

The  maple  woods,  the  crisp  February  days,  and  the 
sugar-makiug  ; 

The  robin,  where  he  hops,  bright-eyed,  brown-breasted. 

With  musical  clear  call  at  suni'ise,  and  again  at  sunset, 

Or  flitting  among  the  trees  of  the  apple-orchard,  build- 
ing the  nest  of  his  mate  ; 

The  melted  snow  of  March — the  willow  sending  forth 
its  yellow-green  sprouts  ; 

— For  spring-time  is  here !  the  summer  is  here  !  and 
what  is  this  in  it  and  from  it  ? 

Thou,  Soul,  unloosen'd — the  restlessness  after  I  know 
not  what ; 

Come !  let  us  lag  here  no  longer — let  us  be  up  and 
away! 

O  for  another  v.'orld !  O  if  one  could  but  fly  like  a 
bird ! 

O  to  escape — to  sail  forth,  as  in  a  ship  I 

To  glide  with  thee,  O  Soul,  o'er  all,  in  all,  as  a  ship  o'er 
the  waters  ! 

— Gathering  these  hints,  these  preludes — the  blue  sky, 
the  grass,  the  morning  di'ops  of  dew ; 

(With  additional  songs — every  spring  will  I  now  strike 
up  additional  songs, 

Nor  ever  again  forget,  these  tender  days,  the  chants  of 
Death  as  well  as  Life  ;) 

The  lilac-scent,  the  bushes,  and  the  dark  green,  heart- 
shaped  leaves, 

Wood  violets,  the  little  delicate  pale  blossoms  called 
innocence, 

Samples  and  sorts  not  for  themselves  alone,  but  for 
theu'  atmosphere. 

To  tally,  drench'd  with  them,  tested  by  them. 

Cities  and  artificial  life,  and  all  their  sights  and  scenes, 
5 


98  Passage  to  Indl\. 

My  mind  henceforth,  and  all  its  meditations— my  reci- 

tatives, 
My  land,  my  age,  my  race,  for  once  to  serve  in  songs, 
(Sprouts,  tokens  ever  of  death  indeed  the  same  as  life,) 
To  grace  the  bush  I  love — to  sing  vdth  the  birds, 
A  warble  for  joy  of  Lilac-time. 


— ^p^-S^&SCa* 


Who  Learns  My  Lesson  Complete  ? 

'  Who  learns  my  lesson  complete  ? 

Boss,  journeyman,  apprentice — churchman  and  atheist. 

The  stupid  and  the  wise  thinker — parents  and  ofi'spring 

— merchant,  clerk,  porter  and  customer. 
Editor,  author,  artist,  and  schoolboy — Draw  nigh  aud 

commence  ; 
It  is  no  lesson — it  lets  down  the  bars  to  a  good  lesson. 
And  that  to  another,  and  every  one  to  another  still. 

^  The  great  laws  take  and  effuse  without  argument  ; 
I  am  of  the  same  style,  for  I  am  their  friend, 
I  love  them  quits  and  quits — I  do  not  halt,  and  make 
salaams. 

"  I  lie  abstracted,  and  hear  beautiful  tales  of  things, 

and  the  reasons  of  things  ; 
They  are  so  beautiful,  I  nudge  myself  to  hsten. 

*  I  cannot  say  to  any  person  what  I  hear — I  cannot  say 
it  to  myself — it  is  very  wonderful. 

^  It  is  no  small  matter,  this  round  and  delicious  globe, 
moving  so  exactly  in  its  orbit  forever  and  ever, 
without  one  jolt,  or  the  untruth  of  a  single 
second  ; 

I  do  not  think  it  was  made  in  sis  days,  nor  in  ten 
thousand  years,  nor  ten  billions  of  j'ears, 

Nor  plann'd  and  built  one  thing  after  another,  as  an 
architect  plans  and  builds  a  house. 


Leayks  of  Gkass.  99 

"  I  do  not  think  seventy  years  ia  tlio  time  of  a  man  or 

woman, 
Nor  that  seventy  millions  of  years  is  the  time  of  a  man 

or  woman, 
Nor  that  j'ears  will  ever  stop  the  existence  of  me,  or 

any  one  else. 

'  Is  it  wonderful  that  I  should  be  immortal  ?  as  every 
one  is  immortal  ; 

I  hnow  it  is  wonderful,  but  my  eyesight  is  equally  won- 
derful, and  how  I  was  conceived  in  my  mother's 
womb  is  equally  wonderful ; 

And  pass'd  from  a  babe,  in  the  creeping  trance  of  a 
couple  of  summers  and  winters,  to  articulate  and 
walk — All  this  is  equally  wonderful. 

^  And  that  my  Soul  embraces  you  this  hour,   and  we 
aiTect  each  other  without  ever  seeing  each  other, 
and  never  jDerhaps  to  see  each  other,  is  every  bit 
'  as  wonderful. 

®  And  that  I  can  think  such  thoughts  as  these,  is  just 

as  wonderful ; 
And  that  I  can  remind  you,  and  you  think  them,  and 

know  them  to  be  true,  is  just  as  wonderful. 

'"  And  that  the  moon  spins  round  the  earth,  and  on 
with  the  earth,  is  equally  wonderful. 

And  that  they  balance  themselves  ^Yith  the  sun  and 
stars,  is  equally  wonderful. 


Thought. 


Of  Justice — As  if  Justice  could  be  anything  but  the 
same  ample  law,  expounded  by  natural  judges 
and  saviors. 

As  if  it  might  be  this  thing  or  that  thing,  according  to 
decisions. 


100  Passage  to  Ikdia. 


Myself  and  Mine. 

^  Myself  and  mine  g3rm.nastic  ever, 

To  stand  the  cold  or  heat — to  take  good  aim  with  a 
gun — to  sail  a  boat — to  manage  horses — to  be- 
get superb  children, 

To  speak  readily  and  clearly — to  feel  at  homo  among 
common  people, 

And  to  hold  our  own  in  terrible  positions,  on  land  and 
sea. 

"  Not  for  an  embroiderer  ; 

(There  will  always  be  plenty  of  embroiderers — I  wel- 
come them  also  ;) 

But  for  the  j&bre  of  things,  and  for  inherent  men  and 
women. 

^  Not  to  chisel  ornaments. 

But  to  chisel  with  free  stroke  the  heads  and  limbs  of 

plenteous  Supreme  Gods,  that  The  States  may 

reahze  them,  walking  and  talking. 

^  Let  me  have  my  own  way ; 

Let  others  promulge  the  laws — I  will  make  no  account 

of  the  laws  ; 
Let  others  praise  eminent  men  and  hold  up  peace — I 

hold  uj)  agitation  and  conflict ; 
I  praise  no  eminent  man — I  rebuke  to  his  face  the  one 

that  was  thought  most  worthy. 

^  (Who  are  you  ?  you  mean  devil !     And  what  are  you 

secretly  guilty  of,  all  your  life  ? 
Will  you  turn  aside  all  your  life  ?     Will  you  grub  and 

chatter  all  your  life  ?) 

®  (And  who  are  you — blabbing  by  rote,  years,  pages, 

languages,  reminiscences. 
Unwitting  to-day  that  you  do  not  know  how  to  speak  a 

single  word  ?) 


Leaves  or  Grass.  101 

'  Let  others  finisli  specimens — I  never  finish  specimens  ; 
I  shower  them  by  exhaustless   laws,  as  Nature  does, 
fresh  and  modern  continually. 

*  I  give  nothing  as  duties  ; 

What  others  give  as  duties,  I  give  as  living  impulses  ; 
(Shall  I  give  the  heart's  action  as  a  duty  ?) 

*  Let  otliers  dispose  of  questions — I  dispose  of  nothing 

— I  arouse  unanswerable  questions  ; 
Who  are  they  I  see  and  touch,  and  what  about  them  ? 
What  about  these  lihes  of  myself,  that  draw  me  so  close 

by  tender  directions  and  indirections  ? 

'"  I  call  to  the  world  to  distrust  the  accounts  of  my 

friends,  but  listen  to  my  enemies — as  I  myself 

do  ; 
I  charge  you,  too,  forever,  reject  those  who  would  ex- 

pomid  me — for  I  cannot  expound  myself  ; 
I  charge  that  there  be  no  theory  or  school  founded  out 

of  me  ; 
I  charge  you  to  leave  all  free,  as  I  have  left  all  free. 

"  After  me,  vista  ! 

O,  I  see  life  is  not  short,  but  immeasurably  long  ; 

I  henceforth   tread  the  world,   chaste,  temperate,  an 

early  riser,  a  steady  grower. 
Every  hour  the  semen  of  centuries — and  still  of  centu- 
"  ries. 

'-  I  will  follow  up  these  continual  lessons  of  the  air, 

water,  earth  ; 
I  perceive  I  have  no  time  to  lose. 


TO  OLD  AGE. 

I  SEE  in  you  the  estuary  that  enlarges  and  spreads  itself 
grandly  as  it  pours  in  the  gTcat  Sea. 


102  Passage  to  India. 


MIRACLES. 

'  Why  !  who  makes  miicli  of  a  miracle  ? 

As  to  me,  I  know  of  nothing  else  but  miracles, 

Whether  I  walk  the  streets  of  Manhattan, 

Or  dart  my  sight  over  the  roofs  of  houses  toward  the 

sky, 

Or  wade  with  naked  feet  along  the  beach,  just  in  the 

edge  of  the  water, 
Or  stand  under  trees  in  the  woods, 
Or  talk  by  day  with  any  one  I  love — or  sleep  in  the  bed 

at  night  with  any  one  I  love, 
Or  sit  at  table  at  dinner  with  my  mother, 
Or  look  at  strangers  opposite  me  riding  in  the  car, 
Or  watch  honey-bees  busy  around  the  hive,  of  a  sum- 
mer forenoon, 
Or  animals  feeding  in  the  fields. 
Or  birds — or  the  wonderfuluess  of  insects  in  the  air, 
Or   the  wonderfuluess   of   the   sun-down — or  of  stars 

shining  so  quiet  and  bright. 
Or  the  exquisite,  delicate,  thin  curve  of  the  new  moon 

in  spring  ; 
Or  whether  I  go  among  those  I  like  best,  and  that  hke 

me  best — mechanics,  boatmen,  farmers. 
Or  among  the  savans  —  or  to  the  soiree  —  or  to  the 

opera. 
Or  stand  a  long  v.'hile  looking  at  the  movements  of 

machinery. 
Or  behold  children  at  theii*  sports, 
Or  the  admirable  sight  of  the  perfect  old  man,  or  the 

perfect  old  woman, 
Or  the  sick  in  hospitals,  or  the  dead  carried  to  burial, 
Or  my  own  eyes  and  figure  in  the  glass  ; 
These,  with  the  rest,  one  and  all,  are  to  me  miracles, 
The   whole    referring  —  yet  each   distinct,  and  in  its 

place. 

■^  To  me,  every  hour  of  the  light  and  dark  is  a  mir- 
acle. 
Every  cubic  inch  of  space  is  a  miracle. 


Leaves  of  Grass.  103 

Every  sqiipa^e  yard  of  the  surface  of  tlie  earth  is  sj)read 

with  the  same, 
Every  foot  of  the  interior  swarms  with  the  same  ; 
Every  spear  of  grass — the  frames,  hmbs,  organs,  of  men 

and  women,  and  all  that  concerns  them, 
All  these  to  me  are  unspeakably  perfect  miracles. 

^  To  me  the  se^,  is  a  continual  miracle  ; 

The  fishes  that  swim — the  rocks — the  motion  of  the 

waves — the  ships,  with  men  in  them. 
What  stranger  miracles  are  there  ? 


SPARKLES  FROM  THE  WHEEL. 


Wheee  the  city's  ceaseless  crowd  moves  on,  the  live- 
long day, 

Withdrawn,  I  join  a  group  of  children  watching — I 
pause  aside  with  them. 

By  the  curb,  toward  the  edge  of  the  flagging, 

A  knife-grinder  works  at  his  wheel,  sharpening  a  great 

knife  ; 
Bending  ovei-,  he  carefully  holds  it  to  the  stone — by 

foot  and  knee, 
With  measur'd  tread,  he  tarns  rapidly — As  he  presses 

with  light  but  firm  hand, 
Forth  issue,  then,  in  copious  golden  jets, 
Sparkles  from  the  wheel. 


The  scene,  and  all  its  belongings — how  they  seize  and 

affect  me ! 
The  sad,  sharp-chinn'd  old  man,  with  worn  clothes,  and 

broad  shoulder-band  of  leather  ; 
Myself,  effusing  and  fluid — a  phantom  curiously  float- 

inaf — now  here  absorb'd  and  arrested  ; 


104  Passage  to  Indlv. 

The  group,  (an  tinmindecl  point,  set  in  a  vast  siirround- 

^^g  ;) 
Tlie  attentive,  quiet  cliildi'en — tlie  loud,  proud,  restive 

base  01  the  streets  ; 
The  low,  hoarse  purr  of  the  whirling  stone — the  light- 

press'd  blade, 
Diffusing,  dropping,  sideways-darting,  in  tiny  showers 

of  gold, 
SpgrHes  from  the  wheel. 


EXCELSIOR. 

Who  has  gone  farthest  ?  For  lo  I  have  not  I  gone  far- 
ther? 

And  who  has  been  just  ?  For  I  would  be  the  most  just 
person  of  the  earth  ; 

And  who  most  cautious  ?  For  I  would  be  more  cau- 
tious ; 

And  who  has  been  hapjDiest  ?  O  I  think  it  is  I !  I  think 
no  one  was  ever  hapiDier  than  I ; 

And  who  has  lavish'd  all  ?  For  I  lavish  constantly  the 
best  I  have  ; 

And  who  has  been  firmest  ?  For  I  would  be  firmer  ; 

And  who  proudest  ?  For  I  think  I  have  reason  to  be 
the  proudest  son  alive — for  I  am  the  son  of  the 
brav/ny  and  tall-topt  city  ; 

And  who  has  been  bold  and  true  ?  For  I  would  be  the 
boldest  and  truest  being  of  the  universe  ; 

And  who  benevolent  ?  For  I  would  show  more  benevo- 
lence than  all  the  rest ; 

And  who  has  projected  beautiful  words  through  the 
longest  time?  Have  I  not  outvied  him?  have  I 
not  said  the  words  that  shall  stretch  througli 
longer  time  ? 

And  who  has  reeeiv'd  the  love  of  the  most  friends  ?  For 
I  know  what  it  is  to  receive  the  passionate  love 
of  many  friends  ; 


Leaves  of  Geass.  105 

And  who  possesses  a  perfect  and  enamour'd  body  ?  For 
I  do  not  believe  any  one  possesses  a  more  perfect 
or  enamour'd  body  than  mine  ; 

And  who  thinks  the  amplest  thoughts  ?  For  I  will  sur- 
round those  thoughts  ; 

And  who  has  made  hymns  fit  for  the  earth?  For  I  am 
mad  with  devouring  extasy  to  make  joyous  hymns 
for  the  whole  earth ! 


Mediums. 

Thet  shall  aris2  in  the  States 

They  shall  report  Nature,  laws,  physiology,  and  happi- 
ness ; 

They  shall  illustrate  Democracy  and  the  kosmos  ; 

They  shall  be  alimentive,  amative,  perceptive  ; 

They  shall  be  complete  women  and  men — their  pose 
brawny  and  supple,  their  drink  water,  their 
blood  clean  and  clear  ; 

They  shall  enjoy  materialism  and  (he  sight  of  products 
— they  shall  enjoy  the  sight  of  the  beef,  lumber, 
bread-stuffs,  of  Chicago,  the  great  city  ; 

They  shall  train  themselves  to  go  in  public  to  become 
orators  and  oratresses  ; 

Strong  and  sweet  shall  their  tongues  be — poems  and 
materials  of  poems  shall  come  from  their  lives — 
they  shall  be  makers  and  finders  ; 

Of  them,  and  of  their  works,  shall  emerge  divine  con- 
veyers, to  convey  gospels  ; 

Characters,  events,  retrospections,  shall  be  convey'd  in 
gospels — Trees,  animals,  waters,  shall  be  con- 
vey'd. 

Death,  the  future,  the  invisible  faith,  shall  all  be  con- 
vey'd. 


106  Passage  to  India. 


KOSMOS. 


Who  ill  eludes  diversity,  and  is  Nature, 

Who  is  the  amx^iitude  of  the  earth,  and  the  coarseness 
and  sexuality  of  the  earth,  and  tlie  great  charitj^ 
of  the  earth,  and  the  equilii)rium  also, 

Yv'ho  has  not  look'd  forth  from  the  windows,  the  eyes, 
for  nothing,  or  whose  brain  held  audience. witli 
messengers  for  nothing  ; 

Who  contains  believers  and  disbelievers — Who  is  the 
most  majestic  lover  ; 

Who  holds  duly  his  or  her  triune  proportion  of  real- 
ism, spii'itualism,  and  of  the  Eesthetic,  or  intel- 
lectual, 

Who,  having  consider'd  the  Body,  finds  all  its  organs 
and  parts  good  ; 

Who,  out  of  the  theory  of  the  earth,  and  of  his  or  her 
body,  understands  by  subtle  analogies  all  other 
theories. 

The  theory  of  a  city,  a  poem,  and  of  the  large  politics 
of  These  States  ; 

Who  believes  not  only  in  our  globe,  with  its  sun  and 
moon,  but  in  other  globes,  with  their  suns  and 
moons  ; 

Who,  constructing  the  house  of  himself  or  herself,  not 
for  a  day,  but  for  ail  time,  sees  races,  eras,  dates, 
generations, 

The  past,  the  future,  dwelhug  there,  like  space,  insep- 
arable toe^ether. 


TO  A  PUPIL. 

^  Is  reform  needed  ?  Is  it  through  you  ? 
The  greater  the  reform  needed,  the  greater  the  person- 
ality you  need  to  accomplish  it. 

^  You  !  do  you  not  see  how  it  would  servo  to  have  eyes, 
blood,  complexion,  clean  and  sweet  ? 


Leaves  of  Grass.  107 

Do  you  not  see  liow  it  would  serve  to  have  sucla  a  Body 
and  Soul,  that  when  you  enter  the  crowd,  an 
atmosphere  of  desire  and  command  enters  -with 
you,  and  every  one  is  impress'd  mth  your  per- 
sonality ? 

^  0  the  magnet !  the  flesh  over  and  over ! 

Go,  dear  friend !  if  need  be,  give  u]i  all  else,  and  com- 
mence to-day  to  inure  yourself  to  pluck,  reality, 
self-esteem,  definiteness,  elevatedness  ; 

Piest  not,  till  you  rivet  and  publish  yourself  of  your 
own  personality. 


WHAT  AM  I,  AFTER  ALL. 

'  What  am  I,  after  all,  but  a  child,  pleas'd  with  the 
sound  of  my  own  name  ?  repeating  it  over  and* 
over  ; 

I  stand  apai't  to  hear — it  never  tires  me. 

'  To  you,  your  name  also; 

Did  you  think  there  was  nothing  but  two  or  three  pro- 
nunciations in  the  sound  of  your  name  ? 


OTHERS  MAY  PRAISE  WHAT  THEY  LIKE. 

Othees  may  praise  what  they  like  ; 

But  I,  from  the  banks  of  the  running  Slissouri,  praise 

nothing,  in  art,  or  aught  else, 
Till  it  has  well  inhaled  the  atmosphere  of  this  river — 

also  the  western  prairie-scent, 
And  fully  exudes  it  again. 


108  Passage  to  India. 

BROTHER  OF  ALL,  WITH  GENEROUS  HAND. 

(C-  P-1  Buried  l^ehrtiary^  1S70.) 


'  Brother  oi'  all,  with  generous  band, 

Of  thee,  poudering-  on  thee,  as  o'er  thy  tomb,  I  and  my 

Soul, 
A  thought  to  launch  in  memory  of  thee, 
A  burial  verse  for  thee, 

^  Wliat  may  we  chant,  O  thou  within  this  tomb  ? 
Y\^hat  tablets,  pictures,  hang  for  thee,  O  millionaire  ? 
— The  life  thou  lived'st  we  know  not, 
But  that  thou  walk'dst  thy  years  in  barter,  'mid  the 

haunts  of  brokers  ; 
Nor  heroism  thine,  nor  war,  nor  glory. 

^  Yet  lingering,  yearning,  joining  soul  with  thine. 
If  not  thy  past  we  chant,  we  chant  the  future, 
Select,  adorn  the  futui-e. 

2 

•*  Lo,  Soul,  the  graves  of  heroes  ! 

The  joride  of  lands — the  gratitudes  of  men, 

The  statues  of  the  manifold  famous  dead,  Old  World 

and  New, 
The  kings,  inventors,  generals,  poets,  (stretch  wide  thy 

vision,  Soul,) 
The  excellent   rulers  of  the  races,  great  discoverers, 

sailors. 
Marble   and    brass   select  from   them,   with  pictures, 

scenes, 
(The  histories  of  the  lands,  the  races,  bodied  there. 
In  what  they've  built  for,  graced  and  graved. 
Monuments  to  their  heroes.) 


Leaves  of  Grass.  109 

3 

^  Silent,  my  Soul, 

With  drooping  lids,  as  waiting,  ponder'd, 
Turning  from  all  the  samples,  all  the  monuments  of 
heroes. 

^  "While  through  the  interior  vistas. 

Noiseless  uprose,  phantasmic,  (as,  by  night,  Auroras  of 

the  North,) 
Lambent  tableaux,  prophetic,  bodiless  scenes. 
Spiritual  projections. 

*  In  one,  among  the  city  streets,  a  laborer's  home  ap- 
l^ear'd, 

After  lus  day's  work  done,  cleanly,  sweet-air'd,  the  gas- 
light burning, 

The  carpet  swept,  and  a  fire  in  the  cheerful  stove. 

^  In  one,  the  sacred  parturition  scene, 

A  happy,  painless  mother  birth'd  a  perfect  child. 

^  In  one,  at  a  bounteous  morning  meal. 
Sat  peaceful  parents,  with  contented  sons. 

'°  In  one,  by  twos  and  threes,  young  people. 
Hundreds  concentering,  walli'd  the  paths  and  streets 

and  roads. 
Toward  a  tall-domed  school. 

"  In  one  a  trio,  beautiful. 

Grandmother,     loving     daughter,     loving    daughter's 

daughter,  sat. 
Chatting  and  sewing. 

'-  In  one,  along  a  suite  of  noble  rooms, 

'Mid  plenteous  books  and  journals,  paintings  on  the 

walls,  fine  statuettes. 
Were  groups  of  friendly  journeymen,  mechanics,  young 

and  old, 
Reading,  conversing. 


110  Passage  to  India. 

'''  All,  all  the  shows  of  laboring  life, 

City  and  country,  women's,  men's  and  children's, 

Their  wants  provided  for,  hned  in  the  sun,  and  tinged 

for  once  with  joy, 
Marriage,  the  street,  the  factor}',  farm,  the  house-room, 

lodging-room, 
Labor   and   toil,    the   bath,    gymnasium,  play-gTound, 

library,  college. 
The  student,  iDoy  or  girl,  led  forward  to  be  taught ; 
The   sick   cared   for,    the    shoeless    shod — the   orphan 

father'd  and  mother'd. 
The  hungry  fed,  the  houseless  housed  ; 
(The  intentions  perfect  and  divine. 
The  workings,  details,  haply  human.) 


'^  O  thou  within  this  tomb, 

From  thee,  such  scenes — tliou  stintless,  lavish  Giver, 

Tallying  the  gifts  of  Earth — large  as  the  Earth, 

Thy  name  an  Earth,  with  moimtains,  fields  and  rivers. 

'^  Nor  by  your  streams  alone,  you  rivers, 

I>y  you,  your  banks,  Connecticut, 

By  you,  and  all  your  teeming  life,  Old  Thames, 

By  you,  Potomac,  laving  the  ground  Washington  trod 

— ^by  you  Patapsco, 
You,  Hudson — ^you,    endless   Mississippi — not   by  you 

alone, 
But  to  the  high  seas  launch,  my  thought,  his  memory. 


"^  Lo,  Soul,  by  this  tomb's  lambency, 

The  darkness  of  the  arrogant  standards  of  the  world, 

IVith  all  its  flaunting  aims,  ambitions,  pleasures. 

"  (Old,  commonplace,  and  rusty  saws, 
The  rich,  the  gay,  the  supercilious,  smiled  at  long, 
Now,  piercing  to  the  marrow  in  my  bones, 
Fused  with  each  drop  my  heart's  blood  jets, 
Swim  in  ineffable  meaning.) 


Lkwes  of  Geass.  Ill 

'^  Lo,  Soul,  the  sphere  requii'eth,  portionetli, 

To  each  his  share,  his  measure. 

The   iiioJerato    to    the    moderate,   the   ample   to   the 
ample. 

'^  Lo,  Soul,  see'st  thou  not,  plain  as  the  sun, 
The  only  real  wealth  of  wealth  in  generosity, 
The  only  life  of  life  in  goodness  ? 


NIGHT  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

'  Night  on  the  prairies  ; 

The  supper  is  over — the  fire  on  the  gTOund  burns  low  ; 
The  wearied  emigrants  sleep,  wrapt  in  their  blankets  : 
I  walk-by  myself — I  stand  and  look  at  the  stars,  which 
I  think  now  I  never  realized  before. 

-  Now  I  absorb  immortality  and  x^eace, 
I  admire  death,  and  test  propositions. 

^  How  plenteous  !  How  spiritual !  How  resume  ! 
The  same  Old  Man  and  Soul — the  same  old  aspirations, 
and  the  same  content. 

■*  I  was  thinking  the  day  most  splendid,  tiU  I  saw  what 

the  not-day  exhibited, 
I  was  thinking  this  globe  enough,  till  there  sprang  out 

so  noiseless  around  me  myi'iads  of  other  globes. 

^  Now,  while  the  great  thoughts  of  space  and  eternity 
fill  me,  I  will  measure  myself  by  them  ; 

And  now,  touch'd  with  the  lives  of  other  globes,  arrived 
as  far  along  as  those  of  the  earth, 

Or  waiting  to  arrive,  or  pass'd  on  farther  than  those  of 
the  earth, 


112  Passage   to  India. 

I  henceforth  no  more  ignore  them,  than  I  ignore  mj'- 

ov/n  life, 
Or  the  lives  of  the  earth  arrived  as  far  as  mine,   or 

waiting  to  arrive. 

^01  see  nov/  that  life  cannot  exhibit  all  to  me — as  the 

day  cannot, 
I  see  that  I  am  to  v^ait  for  what  will  be  exhibited  by 

death. 


ON  JOURNEYS  THROUGPI  THE  STATES. 

'  On  journeys  through  the  States  we  start, 
(Ay,  through  the  world — urged  by  these  songs. 
Sailing  henceforth  to  every  land — to  every  sea  ;\ 
We,  willing  learners  of  all,  teachers  of  all,  and  lovers 
of  all. 

-  We  have  vfatch'd  the  seasons  dispensing  themselves, 

and  passing  on. 
We  have  said.  Why  should  not  a  man  or  woman  do  as 

much  as  the  seasons,  and  effuse  as  much  ? 

^  We  dwell  a  while  in  every  city  and  town  ; 

We  pass  through  Kanada,  the  north-east,  the  vast  valley 

of  the  Mississippi,  and  the  Southern  States  ; 
We  confer  on  equal  terms  with  each  of  The  Sta,tes, 
We  make  trial  of  ourselves,  and  invite  men  and  women 

to  hear ; 
We  say  to  ourselves,  Eemember,  fear  not,  be  candid, 

promulge  the  body  and  the  Soul ; 
Dwell  a  while  and  pass  on — Be   copious,  temperate, 

chaste,  magnetic. 
And  what  you  effuse  may  then  return  as  the  seasons 

return, 
And  may  be  just  as  much  as  the  seasons. 


Leaves  of  Grass.  113 

SAVANTISM. 

Thither,  as  I  look,  I  see  eacli  result  and  glory  retracing 
itself  and  nestling  close,  always  obligated  ; 

Thither  hours,  months,  years — thither  trades,  compacts, 
estabhshments,  even  the  most  minute  ; 

Thither  eveiy-day  life,  speech,  utensils,  politics,  per- 
sons, est-ates  ; 

Thither  we  also,  I  with  my  leaves  and  songs,  trustful, 
admirant. 

As  a  father,  to  his  father  going,  takes  his  children 
along"  with  him. 


LOCATIONS    AND    TIMES. 

Locations  and  times — what  is  it  in  me  that  meets  them 
all,  vvhenever  and  wherever,  and  makes  me  at 
home  ? 

Forms,  colors,  densities,  odors — what  is  it  in  me  that 
corresponds  with  them  ? 


THOUGHT. 

Of  Equality — As  if  it  harm'd  me,  giving  others  the 
same  chances  and  rights  as  myself — As  if  it 
were  not  indispensable  to  my  own  rights  that 
others  possess  the  same. 


— «KS«<s'SG*<i«— 


OFFERINGS. 


A  THOUSAND  perfect  men  and  women  appear, 
Around  each  gathers  a  cluster  of  friends,  and  gay  chil- 
dren and  youths,  with  offerings. 


114  Leaves  of  Gsi^ss. 

TESTS. 

All  submit  to  tliem,  wliere  they  sit,  inner,  secure, 
unapproachable  to  analysis,  in  the  Soul ; 

Not  traditions — not  the  outer  authorities  are  the  judges 
— they  are  the  judges  of  outer  authorities,  and 
of  all  traditions  ; 

They  corroborate  as  they  go,  only  whatever  corrobo- 
rates themselves,  and  touches  themselves  ; 

For  all  that,  they  have  it  forever  in  themselves  to  cor- 
roborate far  and  near,  without  one  exception. 


THE  TORCH. 

On  my  northwest  coast  in  the  midst  of  the  night,  a 
fishermen's  group  stands  watching  ; 

Out  on  the  lahe,  that  expands  before  them,  others  are 
spearing  salmon  ; 

The  canoe,  a  dim  shadowy  thing,  moves  across  the 
black  water. 

Bearing  a  Torch  a-blaze  at  the  prow. 


Passage  to  India.  115 

GODS. 


Thought  of  tlie  Infinite — the  All ! 
Be  thou  my  God. 

Lover  Divine,  find  Perfect  Comrade ! 
Waiting-,  content,  invisible  yet,  but  certain. 
Be  thou  my  God. 

3 

Thou— thou,  the  Ideal  Man  ! 
Fair,  able,  beautiful,  content,  and  loving, 
Complete  in  Body,  and  dilate  in  Spirit, 
Be  thou  my  God. 

4 

O  Death — (for  Life  has  served  its  turn  ;) 
Opener  and  usher  to  the  heavenly  mansion ! 
Be  thou  my  God. 

5 

Aught,   aught,  of  mightiest,  best,  I  see,   conceive,  or 

know, 
(To  brealc  the  stagnant  tie — thee,  thee  to  free,  O  Soul.) 
Be  thou  my  God. 

Or  thee,  Old  Cause,  whene'er  advancing  ; 
All  great  Ideas,  the  races'  aspirations. 
All  that  exalts,  releases  thee,  my  Soul ! 
All  heroisms,  deeds  of  rapt  enthusiasts. 
Be  ye  my  Gods  ! 

Or  Time  and  Space ! 

Or  shape  of  Earth,  divine  and  wondrous ! 

Or  shape  in  I  myself— or  some  fair  shape,  I,  viewing, 

worshi}-), 
Or  lustrous  orb  of  Sun,  or  star  by  night : 
Be  ye  my  Gods. 


116  Passage  to  India. 

TO  ONE  SHOPvTLY  TO  DIE. 


'  From  all  tlie  rest  I  single  out  you,  liaying  a  message 

for  you  : 
You  are  to  die — Let  others  tell  you  what  they  please,  I 

cannot  prevaricate, 
I  am  exact  and  merciless,  but  I  love  you — There  is  no 

escape  for  you. 

^  Softly  I  lay  my  right  hand  upon  you — jon  just  feel  it, 
I  do  not  argue — I  bend  my  head  close,  and  half  en- 
velop it, 
I  sit  quietly  b}' — I  remain  faithful, 
I  am  more  than  nurse,  more  than  parent  or  neighbor, 
I  absolve  you  from  all  except  yourself,  spiritual,  bodily 
— that  is  eternal — you  yourself  will  surely  escape. 
The  corpse  you  will  leave  will  be  but  excrementitious. 


^  The  sun  bursts  through  in  unlooked-for  directions ! 

Strong  thoughts  fill  you,  and  confidence  — you  smile ! 

You  forget  you  are  sick,  as  I  forget  you  are  sick. 

You  do  not  see  the  medicines — you  do  not  mind  the 
v/eeping  friends — I  am  with  you, 

I  exclude  others  from  you — there  is  nothing  to  be  com- 
miserated, 

I  do  not  commiserate — I  congratulate  you. 


LESSONS. 

These  are  who  teach  only  tlae  sweet  lessons  of  peace 

and  safety  ; 
But  I  teach  lessons  of  war  and  death  to  those  I  love, 
That  they  readily  meet  invasions,  when  they  come. 


Leaves  of  Gbass. 


Now  Finale  to  the  Shore, 


NOW  FINALE  TO  THE   SHORE. 

Now  finale  to  the  shore  ! 

Now,  land  and  life,  finale,  and  farewell ! 

Now  Voyager  depart !  (much,  much  for  thee  is  yet  in 

store  ;) 
Often  enough  hast  thou  adventur'd  o'er  the  seas. 
Cautiously  cruising,  studying  the  charts. 
Duly  again  to  port,  and  hawser's  tie,  returning  : 
— But  now  obey  thy  cherish'd,  secret  wish, 
Embrace  thy  friends — leave  all  in  order  ; 
To  port,  and  hawser's  tie,  no  more  returning, 
Depart  upon  thy  endless  cruise,  old  Sailor  ! 


SHUT  NOT  YOUR  DOORS,  &c. 

Shut  not  your  doors  to  me,  proud  libraries, 

For  that  which  was  lacking  on  all  your  well-fill'd 
shelves,  yet  needed  most,  I  bring  ; 

Forth  fi'om  the  army,  the  war  emerging — a  book  I 
have  made. 

The  words  of  my  book  nothing— the  drift  of  it  every- 
thing ; 


118  Passage  to  India. 

A  book  separate,  not  link'd  with  the  rest,  nor  felt  by 

the  intellect, 
But  you,  ye  untold  latencies,  will  thrill  to  every  page  ; 
Through  Space  and  Time  fused  in  a  chant,  and  the 

flowing,  eternal  Identity, 
To  Nature,  encompassing  these,  encompassing  God — 

to  the  joyous,  electric  All, 
To   the   sense   of  Death — and   accepting,    exulting  in 

Death,  in  its  turn,  the  same  as  life, 
The  entrance  of  Man  I  sing. 


THOUGHT. 

As  they  draw  to  a  close. 

Of  what  underlies  the  precedent  songs — of  mj  aims  in 

them  ; 
Of  the  seed  I  have  sought  to  plant  in  them  ; 
Of  joy,  sweet  joy,  through  many  a  jear,  in  them  ; 
(For  them — for  them  have  I  lived — In  them  my  work 

is  done  ;) 
Of  many  an  aspiration  fond — of  many  a  dream  and 

plan. 
Of  you,  O  mysteiT  gxeat! — to  place  on  i-ecord  faith  in 

you,  O  death ! 
— To  compact  you,  ye  parted,  diverse  lives  ! 
To  put  rapport  the  mountains,  and  rocks,  and  streams, 
And  the  winds  of  the  north,  and  the  forests  of  oak  and 

pine, 
"With  you,  0  soul  of  man. 


THE  UNTOLD  WANT. 

The  untold  want,  by  life  and  land  ne'er  granted, 
Now,  Voyager,  sail  thou  forth,  to  seek  and  find. 


Now  Finale  to  the  Shore.  119 


PORTALS. 

What  are  those  of  the  known,  but  to  ascend  and  enter 

the  Unknown  ? 
And  what  are  those  of  Hfe,  but  for  Death  ? 


THESE  CAROLS. 

These  Carols,  sung  to  cheer  my  passage  through  the 

world  I  see, 
For  completion,  I  dedicate  to  the  Invisible  World. 


— »«»£>SI®!/2i®«"»— 


THIS  DAY,  O  SOUL. 

This  day,  O  Soul,  I  give  you  a  wondrous  mirror  ; 

Long  in  the  dark,  in  tarnish  and  cloud  it  lay — But  the 
cloud  has  pass'd,  and  the  tarnish  gone  ; 

. .  .  Behold,  O  Soul !  it  is  now  a  clean  and  bright  mir- 
ror. 

Faithfully  showing  you  all  the  things  of  the  world. 


WHAT  PLACE  IS  BESIEGED? 

What  place  is  besieged,  and  vainly  tries  to  raise  the 
siege  ? 

Lo !  I  send  to  that  place  a  commander,  swift,  brave, 
immortal ; 

And  v/ith  hun  horse  and  foot — and  parks  of  artil- 
lery, 

And  artillery-men,  the  deadliest  that  ever  fired  gun. 


120  Now  Finale  to  the  Shore. 


TO  THE  READER  AT  PARTING. 

Now,  clearest  comrade,  lift  me  to  your  face, 

"We  must  separate  awhile — Here !  take  fi-om  my  lips 

this  kiss  ; 
Whoever  you  are,  I  give  it  especially  to  you  ; 
So  long  ! — And  I  hope  we  shall  meet  agaiD. 


JOY,  SHIPMATE,  JOY ! 

Joy  !  shipmate — joy  ! 
(Pleas'd  to  my  Soul  at  death  I  cry  ;) 
Our  life  is  closed — our  life  begins  ; 
The  long,  long  anchorage  we  leave. 
The  ship  is  clear  at  last — she  leaps ! 
She  swiftly  courses  from  the  shore  ; 
Joy  !  shipmate — ^joy ! 


Adverttskment. 

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Democratic 


Vistas. 


Washington,   D.  C. 
1871. 

New-York:   T.  S.  REDFIF.LT),  Pubi.tshf.r.  140  Fulton  St.,  (up  stairs.) 


W^l-^'^Wl 


\i-tv-v.ir- 


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Washington,  D.  C. 

1871. 


(It^°  See  Advertisement  at  end  of  this  Vobime. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1870,  by 

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DEMOCRATIC    VISTAS. 


A  J^'IS^ICA,  filling  tho  present  with  greatest  deeds 
-^^-^  and  problems,  cheerfully  accepting  the  past, 
including  Feuda,hsm,  (as,  indeed,  the  present  is  but 
the  legitimate  birth  of  the  i^ast,  including  feudalism,) 
counts,  as  I  reckon,  for  her  justification  and  success, 
(for  who,  as  yet,  dare  claim  success?)  almost  entirely 
on  the  future.  Nor  is  that  hope  unwarranted.  To-day, 
ahead,  though  dimly  yet,  we  see,  in  vistas,  a  copious, 
sane,  gigantic  offspring. 

For  our  New  World  I  consider  far  less  important  for 
what  it  has  done,  or  what  it  is,  than  for  results  to  come. 
Sole  among  nationahties.  These  States  have  assumed 
the  task  to  put  in  forms  of  lasting  power  and  practi- 
caHty,  on  areas  of  amplitude  rivaling  the  operations  of 
the  j)hysical  kosmos,  the  moral  and  political  siDCCula- 
tions  of  ages,  long,  long  deferred,  the  Democratic  Re- 
publican principle,  and  the  theory  of  development  and 
perfection  by  voluntary  standards,  and  self-suppliance. 
Who  else,  indeed,  except  the  United  States,  in  history, 
so  far,  have  accepted  in  unwitting  faith,  and,  as  we  now 
see,  stand,  act  upon,  and  go  security  for,  these  things  ? 

But  let  me  strike  at  once  the  key-note  of  my  purpose 
in  the  following  strain.  First  premising  that,  though 
passages  of  it  have  been  written  at  widely  different 
times,  (it  is,  in  fact,  a  collection  of  memoranda,  perhaps 
for  future  designers,  comprehenders,)  and  though  it 
may  be  ojjen  to  the  charge  of  one  part  contradicting 
another — for  there  are  opposite  sides  to  the  great  ques- 
tion of  Democracy,  as  to  every  great  question — I  feel 


4  Democratic  Vistas. 

the  parts  harmoniously  blended  in  my  ovni  realization 
and  convictions,  and  present  them  to  be  read  only  in 
such  oneness,  each  page  modified  and  tempered  by  the 
others.  Bear  in  mind,  too,  that  they  are  not  the  result 
of  studying  up  in  ]:)olitical  economy,  but  of  the  ordinary 
sense,  observing,  wandering  among  men.  These  States, 
these  stirring  years  of  war  and  peace.  I  will  not  gloss 
over  the  appalling  dangers  of  universal  suffrage  in  the 
United  States.  In  fact,  it  is  to  admit  and  face  these 
dangers  I  am  writing.  To  him  or  her  within  whose 
thought  rages  the  battle,  advancing,  retreating,  be- 
tween Democracy's  convictions,  aspirations,  and  the 
People's  crudeness,  vice,  caprices,  I  mainly  write  this 
book. 

I  shall  use  the  words  America  and  Democracy  as  con- 
vertible terms.  Not  an  ordinary  one  is  the  issue.  The 
United  States  are  destined  either  to  surmount  the  gor- 
geous history  of  Feudalism,  or  else  prove  the  mos.-  tre- 
mendous failure  of  time.  Not  the  least  doubtful  am  I 
on  any  prospects  of  their  material  success.  The  trium- 
phant future  of  their  business,  geogTaphic,  and  produc- 
tive departments,  on  larger  scales  and  in  more  varieties 
than  ever,  is  certain.  In  those  respects  the  Eepublic 
must  soon  (if  she  does  not  already)  outstrip  all  ex- 
amples hitherto  afforded,  and  dominate  the  world.* 


*  "  From  a  territorial  area  of  less  than  nine  Imndred  tlioii- 
saud  square  miles,  the  Union  has  expanded  into  over  four  mil- 
lions and  a  half — tifteeu  times  larger  tlian  that  of  Great  Britain 
and  France  combined — with  a  shore-line,  including  Alaska,  equal 
to  the  entire  circumference  of  the  earth,  and  with  a  domain 
within  these  lines  far  wider  than  that  of  the  Romans  in  their 
proudest  days  of  conquest  and  renown.  With  a  river,  lake,  and 
coastwise  commerce  estimated  at  over  two  thousand  millions  of 
dollars  per  year ;  with  a  railway  traffic  of  four  to  six  thousand 
millions  per  year,  and  the  annual  domestic  exchanges  of  the 
country  running  up  to  nearly  ten  thousand  millions  per  year; 
with  over  two  thousand  millions  of  dollars  invested  in  manufac 
tuiing,  mechanical,  and  mining  industry  ;  with  over  five  hun- 
dred millions  of  acres  of  land  in  actual  occupancy,  valued,  with 
their  appurtenances,  at  over  seven  thoiisaud  millions  of  dollars, 
and  producing  annually  crops  valued  at  over  three  tliousand  mil- 
lions of  dollars  ;  with  a  realm  which,  if  the  density  of  Belgium's 


DE:iiocF.ATic  Vistas.  5 

Admitting  all  this,  witli  the  priceless  value  of  our 
political  institutions,  general  suffrage  (and  cheerfully 
acknowledging  the  latest,  widest  opening  of  the 
doors,)  I  say  that,  far  deeper  than  these,  what  finally 
and  only  is  to  make  of  our  Western  World  a  National- 
ity superior  to  any  hitherto  known,  and  outtopping 
the  past,  nivist  be  vigorous,  yet  unsuspected  Litera- 
tures, perfect  joersonalities  and  sociologies,  original, 
transcendental,  and  expressing  (what,  in  highest  sense, 
are  not  yet  expressed  at  all,)  Democracy  and  the  Mod- 
ern. With  these,  and  out  of  these,  I  promulge  new 
races  of  Teachers,  and  of  perfect  Women,  indispen- 
sable to  endow  the  birth-stock  of  a  New  World.  For 
Feudalism,  caste,  the  Ecclesiastic  traditions,  though 
palpably  retreating  from  political  institutions,  still  hold 
essentially,  by  their  spu'it,  even  in  this  country,  entire 
possession  of  the  more  important  fields,  indeed  the 
very  subsoil,  of  education,  and  of  social  standards  and 
Literature. 

I  say  that  Democracy  can  never  prove  itself  bej^ond 
cavil,  until  it  founds  and  luxuriantly  grows  its  own 
forms  of  arts,  poems,  schools,  theology,  displacing  all 
that  exists,  or  that  has  been  produced  anywhere  in  the 
past,  under  opposite  influences. 

It  is  curious  to  me  that  while  so  many  voices,  pens, 
rninds,  in  the  press,  lecture-rooms,  in  our  Congress, 
&c.,  are  discussing  intellectual  topics,  pecuniary  dan- 
gers, legislative  problems,  the  suffrage,  tariff  and  labor 
questions,  and  the  various  business  and  benevolent 
needs  of  America,  with  propositions,  remedies,  often 
worth  deep  attention,  there  is  one  need,  a  hiatus,  and 
the  profoundest,  that  no  eye  seems  to  perceive,  no 
voice  to  state.  Our  fundamental  want  to-day  in  the 
United  States,  with  closest,  amplest  reference  to  pres- 


population  were  possible,  would  be  vast  enongli  to  include  all  the 
present  inliabitauts  of  tlie  world  ;  and  with  equal  rights  guaran- 
teed to  even  the  poorest  and  humblest  of  our  forty  millions  of 
people — "we  can,  with  a  manly  pride  akin  to  that  which  distin- 
guished the  palmiest  days  of  Rome,  claim,"  &c.,  &c.,  &c.  —  Vire- 
President  Colfax's  Speech,  July  4,  1870. 


6  Democratic  Vistas. 

ent  conditions,  and  to  the  future,  is  of  a  class,  and  the 
clear  idea  of  a  class,  of  native  Authors,  Literatuses,  far 
different,  far  higher  in  gTade  than  any  yet  known, 
sacerdotal,  modern,  fit  to  cope  with  our  occasions, 
lauds,  permeating  the  whole  mass  of  American  men- 
tality, taste,  belief,  breathing  into  it  a  new  breath  of 
life,  giving  it  decision,  affecting  politics  far  more  than 
the  popular  superficial  suffrage,  with  results  inside 
and  underneath  the  elections  of  Presidents  or  Con- 
gresses, radiating,  begetting  appropriate  teachers  and 
schools,  manners,  costumes,  and,  as  its  grandest  re- 
sult, accomplishing,  (what  neither  the  schools  nor  the 
churches  and  their  clergy  have  hitherto  accomiDlished, 
and  without  which  this  nation  will  no  more  stand,  per- 
manently, soundly,  than  a  house  will  stand  without  a 
substratum,)  a  religious  and  morol  character  beneath 
the  political  and  productive  and  intellectual  bases  of 
The  States.  For  know  you  not,  dear,  earnest  reader, 
that  the  people  of  our  land  maj'  all  know  how  to  read 
and  write,  and  may  all  possess  the  right  to  vote — and 
yet  the  main  things  may  be  entirely  lacking  ? — (and  this 
to  supply  or  suggest  them.) 

Viewed,  to-day,  from  a  point  of  view  sufficiently  over- 
arching, the  problem  of  humanity  all  over  the  civilized 
world  is  social  and  religious,  and  is  to  be  finally  met 
and  treated  by  literature.  The  priest  departs,  the  di- 
vine Literatus  comes.  Never  was  anything  more  wanted 
than,  to-day,  and  here  in  The  States,  the  Poet  of  the 
Modern  is  wanted,  or  the  great  Literatus  of  the  Mod- 
ern. At  all  times,  perhaps,  the  central  point  in  any 
nation,  and  that  whence  it  is  itself  realty  swayed  the 
most,  and  whence  it  sways  others,  is  its  national  litera- 
ture, esjDccially  its  archetypal  poems.  Above  all  previ- 
ous lands,  a  gi-eat  original  literature  is  surely  to  be- 
come the  justification  and  reUance,  (in  some  resj^ects 
the  sole  reliance,)  of  American  Democracy. 

Few  are  aware  how  the  gTeat  literature  penetrates 
all,  gives  hue  to  all,  ."-hapes  aggregates  and  individuals, 
and,  after  subtle  ways,  with  irresistible  power,  con- 
structs, sustains,  demolishes  at  v/ill.      Why  tower,  in 


DilMOCHATIC   YlSTAS.  7 

reminiscence,  above  all  the  old  nations  of  the  earth,  two 
special  lauds,  petty  in  themselves,  yet  inexpressibly 
gigantic,  beautit'ul,  columnar  ?  Immortal  Judah  livcf, 
and  Greece  immoi'tal  lives,  in  a  couple  of  poems. 

Nearer  than  this.  It  is  not  generally  realized,  but  it 
is  true,  as  the  genius  of  Greece,  and  all  the  sociology', 
personality,  i^ohtics  and  religion  of  those  wonderful 
states,  resided  in  their  hterature  or  esthetics,  that  what 
was  afterwards  the  main  support  of  European  chivahy, 
the  feudal,  ecclesiastical,  dynastic  woi-ld  over  there, 
forming  its  osseous  structure,  holding  it  together  fcr 
hundi-eds,  thousands  of  years,  preserving  its  flesh  and 
bloom,  giving  it  form,  decision,  rounding  it  out,  and 
so  saturating  it  in  the  conscious  and  unconscious  blood, 
breed,  belief,  and  intuitions  of  men,  that  it  still  pre- 
vails powerfully  to  this  day,  in  defiance  of  the  mighty 
changes  of  time,  was  its  literature,  permeating  to  the 
very  marrow,  especially  that  major  part,  its  enchant- 
ing songs,  ballads,  and  poems.* 

To  the  ostent  of  the  senses  and  eyes,  I  know,  the  in- 
fluences which  stamp  the  world's  history  are  wars,  up- 
risings or  downfalls  of  dynasties,  changeful  movements 
of  trade,  important  inventions,  navigation,  military  or 
civil  governments,  advent  of  pov/erful  personalities, 
conquerors,  &c.  These  of  course  play  their  part  ; 
yet,  it  may  be,  a  single  nevr  thought,  imagination,  prin- 
ciple, even  literary  style,  fit  for  the  time,  ])nt  in  shape 
by  some  great  Literatus,  and  projected  among  man- 

*  See,  for  hereditaments,  specimens,  Walter  Scott's  Border  ^.lin- 
strelsy,  Percy's  Collection,  Ellis's  Early  English  Metrical  Ko- 
mances,  the  European  Continental  Poems  of  Walter  of  Aquita- 
nia,  and  the  NibeUingen,  of  pagan  stock,  but  monkish-feudal 
redaction  ;  the  history  of  the  Troubadours,  by  Fauriel ;  even  the 
far,  far-back  cumbrous  old  Hindu  epics,  as  indicating  the  Asian 
ejigs,  out  of  which  European  chivalry  was  hatched  ,  Ticknor's 
chapters  on  the  Cid,  and  on  the  Spanish  poems  and  poets  of  Cal- 
deron's  time.  Tlien  always,  and,  of  course,  as  the  superbest, 
]ioetic  ciilmination-espression  of  Feudalism,  the  Shakspearean 
dramas,  in  the  attitudes,  dialogue,  characters,  &c.,  of  the  princes, 
lords  and  gentlemen,  the  pervading  atmospliere,  the  implied 
and  expressed  standard  of  manners,  the  high  port  and  proud 
ctomach,  the  regal  embroidery  of  style,  tc. 


8  Democratic  Vistas. 

kind,  may  duly  cause  clianges,  growths,  removals, 
greater  than  the  longest  and  bloodiest  war,  or  the 
most  stupendous  merely  joohtical,  dynastic,  or  com- 
mercial overturn. 

In  short,  as,  though  it  may  not  be  realized,  it  is 
strictly  true,  that  a  few  first-class  poets,  philosophs, 
and  authors,  have  substantially  settled  and  given  status 
to  the  entire  religion,  education,  law,  sociology,  &c,,  of 
the  hitherto  civilized  world,  by  tinging  and  often  crea- 
ting the  atmospheres  out  of  which  they  have  arisen, 
such  also  mast  stamp,  and  more  than  ever  stamp,  the 
interior  and  real  Democratic  construction  of  this  Ameri- 
can continent,  to-day,  and  days  to  come. 

Remember  also  this  fact  of  difference,  that,  while 
through  the  antique  and  through  the  mediaeval  ages, 
highest  thoughts  and  ideals  realized  themselves,  and 
their  expression  made  its  way  by  other  arts,  as  much 
as,  or  even  more  than  by,  technical  literature,  (not  open 
to  the  mass  of  persons,  nor  even  to  the  majority  of 
eminent  persons,)  such  hteratiu-e  in  our  day  and  for 
current  purjjoses,  is  not  only  more  eligible  than  all  the 
other  arts  j^ut  together,  but  has  become  the  only  gen- 
eral means  of  morally  influencing  the  world.  Paint- 
ing, sculpture,  and  the  dramatic  theatre,  it  would 
seem,  no  longer  play  an  indispensable  or  even  im- 
portant part  in  the  workings  and  mediumship  of  in- 
tellect, utility,  or  even  high  esthetics.  Architecture 
remains,  doubtless  with  capacities,  and  a  real  future. 
Then  music,  the  combiner,  nothing  more  sjjiritual,  noth- 
ing more  sensuous,  a  god,  yet  completely  human,  ad- 
vances, prevails,  holds  highest  place;  supplying  in  cer- 
tain wants  and  quarters  what  nothing  else  could  supply. 
Yet,  in  the  civilization  of  to-day  it  is  undeniable  that, 
over  all  the  arts,  literature  dominates,  serves  beyond 
all — shapes  the  character  of  church  and  school — or,  at 
any  rate,  is  capable  of  doing  so.  Including  the  litera- 
ture of  science,  its  scope  is  indeed  unjDaralleled. 

Before  proceeding  further,  it  were  perhaps  well  to 
discriminate  on  certain  ])oints.  Literature  tills  its 
crops  in  many  fields,  and  some  may  flourish,  while 
others  lag.     What  I  say  in  these  Vistas  has  its  main 


Demockaiio  Yistas.  9 

bearing  on  Imaginative  Literature,  especially  Poetry, 
tlie  stock  of  all.  In  the  department  of  Science,  and  the 
specialty  of  Journalism,  there  appear,  in  These  States, 
promises,  perhaps  fulfilments,  of  highest  earnestness, 
reality,  and  life.  These,  of  course,  are  modern.  But 
in  the  region  of  imaginative,  spinal  and  essential  attri- 
butes, something  equivalent  to  creation  is  imperatively 
demanded.  For  not  only  is  it  not  enough  that  the 
new  blood,  new  frame  of  Democracy  shah  be  vivified 
and  held  together  merely  by  political  means,  sui^erficial 
suffi'age,  legislation,  &c.,  but  it  is  clear  to  me  that,  un- 
less it  goes  deeper,  gets  at  least  as  firm  and  as  v/arm  a 
hold  in  men's  hearts,  emotions  and  belief,  as,  in  their 
days.  Feudalism  or  Ecclesiasticism,  and  inaugau'ates  its 
own  perennial  sources,  welling  from  the  centre  forever, 
its  strength  will  be  defective,  its  growth  doubtful,  and 
its  main  charm  wanting. 

I  suggest,  therefore,  the  possibility,  should  some  two 
or  three  really  original  American  poets,  (perhaps  artists 
or  lecturers,)  arise,  mounting  the  horizon  like  planets, 
stars  of  the  first  magnitude,  that,  from  their  eminence, 
fusing  contributions,  races,  far  localities,  &c.,  together, 
they  would  give  more  compaction  and  more  moral  iden- 
tity, (the  quality  to-day  most  needed,)  to  These  States, 
than  all  its  Constitutions,  legislative  and  judicial  ties, 
and  all  its  hitherto  political,  warUke,  or  materialistic 
experiences.  As,  for  instance,  there  could  hardly  hap- 
pen anything  that  would  more  serve  The  States,  witli 
all  their  variety  of  origins,  then'  diverse  climes,  cities, 
standards,  &c.,  than  possessing  an  aggregate  of  heroes, 
characters,  exploits,  sufferings,  prosj^erity  or  misfor- 
tune, glory  or  disgrace,  common  to  all,  typical  of  all — 
no  less,  but  even  greater  would  it  be  to  possess  the 
aggregation  of  a  cluster  of  mighty  poets,  artists,  teach- 
ers, fit  for  us,  national  expressers,  comprehending  and 
efi'using  for  the  men  and  women  of  The  States,  what  is 
universal,  native,  common  to  all,  inland  and  seaboard, 
northern  and  southern.  The  historians  say  of  ancient 
Greece,  with  her  ever-jealous  autonomies,  cities,  and 
states,  that  the  only  positive  unity  she  ever  owned  or 
received,  was  the  sad  unity  of  a  common  subjection,  at 


10  Democratic  Vistas. 

the  last,  to  foreign  conquerors.  Subjection,  aggrega- 
tion of  that  sort,  is  impossible  to  America  ;  but  the  fear 
of  conflicting  and  irreconcilable  interiors,  and  the  lack 
of  a  common  skeleton,  knitting  all  close,  continually 
haunts  me.  Or,  if  it  does  not,  nothing  is  plainer  than 
the  need,  a  long  period  to  come,  of  a  fusion  of  The 
States  into  the  only  reliable  identity,  the  moral  and 
artistic  one.  For,  I  say,  the  true  nationality  of  The 
States,  the  genuine  union,  when  we  come  to  a  mortal 
crisis,  is,  and  is  to  be,  after  all,  neither  the  written  law, 
nor,  (as  is  generally  supposed,)  either  self-interest,  or 
common  pecuniary  or  material  objects — but  the  fervid 
and  tremendous  Idea,  melting  everything  else  with  re- 
sistless heat,  and  solving  all  lesser  and  definite  distinc- 
tions in  vast,  indefinite,  spiritual,  emotional  power. 

It  may  be  claimed,  (and  I  admit  the  weight  of  the 
claim,)  that  common  and  general  worldly  prosperity, 
and  a  populace  well-to-do,  and  with  all  life's  material 
comforts,  is  the  main  thing,  and  is  enough.  It  may  be 
argued  that  our  Kepublio  is,  in  performance,  really 
enacting  to-day  the  grandest  arts,  poems,  &c.,  by  beat- 
ing up  the  wilderness  into  fertile  farms,  and  in  her 
railroads,  ships,  machinery,  &c.  And  it  may  be  asked, 
Are  these  not  better,  indeed,  for  America,  than  any 
utterances  even  of  greatest  rhapsode,  artist,  or  literatus  ? 

I  too  hail  those  achievements  with  pride  and  joy: 
then  answer  that  the  soul  of  man  will  not  with  such 
only — nay,  not  with  such  at  all — be  finally  satisfied ;  but 
needs  what,  (standing  on  those  and  on  all  things,  as  the 
feet  stand  on  the  ground,)  is  addressed  to  the  loftiest,  to 
itself  alone. 

Out  of  such  considerations,  such  truths,  arises  for 
treatment  in  these  Vistas  the  imj)ortant  question  of 
Character,  of  an  American  stock-personality,  with 
Literatures  and  Arts  for  outlets  and  retimi-expres- 
sions,  and,  of  coui'se,  to  correspond,  within  outlines 
common  to  all.  To  these,  the  main  affair,  the  thinkers 
of  the  United  States,  in  general  so  acute,  have  either 
given  feeblest  attention,  or  have  remained,  and  re- 
main, in  a  state  of  somnolence. 


Demockatic  Vistas.  11 

For  my  part,  I  would  alarm  and  caution  even  the 
political  and  business  reader,  and  to  tlie  utmost  extent, 
against  the  prevailing  delusion  that  the  establishment 
of  free  political  institutions,  and  plentiful  intellectual 
smartness,  with  general  good  order,  physical  plenty,  in- 
dustry, &c.,  (desirable  and  precious  advantages  as  they 
all  are,)  do,  of  themselves,  determine  and  yield  to  our 
experiment  of  I)emocraey  the  fruitage  of  success.  With 
such  advantages  at  present  fully,  or  almost  fully,  pos- 
sessed— the  Union  just  issued,  victorious,  from  the 
struggle  with  the  only  foes  it  need  ever  fear,  (namely, 
those  within  itself,  the  interior  ones,)  and  with  unpre- 
cedented materialistic  advancement — Society,  in  These 
States,  is  cankered,  crude,  superstitious,  and  rotten. 
Political,  or  law-made  society  is,  and  private,  or  volun- 
tary society,  is  also.  In  any  vigoi",  the  element  of  the 
moral  conscience,  the  most  important,  the  vertebrae,  to 
State  or  man,  seems  to  me  either  entirely  lacking  or 
seriously  enfeebled  or  ungrown. 

I  say  we  had  best  look  our  time  and  lands  search- 
iugly  in  the  face,  like  a  physician  diagnosing  some  deep 
disease.  Never  was  there,  perhaps,  more  hollowness 
jxt  heart  than  at  present,  and  here  in  the  United  States. 
Genuine  belief  seems  to  have  left  us.  The  underlying 
principles  of  The  States  are  not  honestly  believed  in, 
(for  all  this  hectic  glow,  and  these  melo-dramatic 
Gcreamings,)  nor  is  Humanity  itself  beheved  in.  "SYhat 
penetrating  eye  does  not  everywhere  see  through  the 
mask?  The  spectacle  is  appalhng.  We  live  in  an 
atmosphere  of  hypocrisy  throughout.  The  men  believe 
not  in  the  women,  nor  the  v/omen  in  the  men.  A 
scornful  superciliousness  rules  in  hterature.  The  aim 
of  all  the  litterateurs  is  to  find  something  to  make  fun  of. 
A  lot  of  churches,  sects,  &c.,  the  most  dismal  phantasms 
I  know,  usurjD  the  name  of  religion.  Conversation  is  a 
mass  of  badinage.  From  deceit  in  the  spirit,  the  mother 
of  all  false  deeds,  the  offspring  is  akeady  incalculable. 
An  acute  and  candid  person,  in  the  Revenue  Depart- 
ment in  Washington,  who  is  led  by  the  course  of  his 
employment  to  regularly  visit  the  cities.  North,  South, 
and  West,  to  investigate  frauds,  has  talked  much  with 


12  Democratic  Vistas. 

me  (1869-70)  about  his  discoveries.  The  clej)ravity  of 
the  business  classes  of  our  country  is  not  less  than  has 
been  supposed,  but  infinitely  greater.  The  whole  of  the 
official  services  of  America,  National,  State,  and  Munici- 
l^al,  in  all  their  branches  and  departments,  except  the 
Judiciary,  are  steeped,  saturated  in  corruption,  bribery, 
falsehood,  mal-administration ;  and  the  Judiciary  is 
tainted.  The  great  cities  reek  with  respectable  as  much 
as  non-respectable  robbory  and  scoundrelism.  In  fash- 
ionable life,  flippancy,  tepid  amours,  weak  infidelism, 
small  aims,  or  no  aims  at  all,  only  to  kill  time.  In  busi- 
ness, (this  all-devouring  modern  word,  business,)  the  one 
sole  object  is,  by  any  means,  pecuniary  gain.  The  ma- 
gician's serpent  in  the  fable  ate  up  all  the  other  ser- 
pents ;  and  moae5'"-making  is  our  magician's  serpent, 
remaining  to-day  sole  master  of  the  field.  The  best 
class  we  show,  is  but  a  mob  of  fashionably-dressed 
speculators  and  vulgarians.  True,  indeed,  behind  this 
fantastic  farce,  enacted  on  the  visible  stage  of  society, 
solid  things  and  stupendous  labors  are  to  be  discovered, 
existing  crudely  and  going  on  in  the  backgi'ound,  to  ad- 
vance and  tell  themselves  in  time.  Yet  the  truths  are 
none  the  less  terrible.  I  say  that  our  New  World  De- 
mocracy, however  great  a  success  in  uplifting  the  masses 
out  of  their  sloughs,  in  materialistic  development,  pro- 
ducts, and  in  a  certain  highly-deceptive  superficial  popu- 
lar intellectuality,  is,  so  far,  an  almost  complete  failure 
in  itt\  social  aspects,  in  any  superb  general  personal 
character,  and  in  really  grand  religious,  moral,  literarj', 
and  esthetic  results.  In  vain  do  we  march  with  unpre- 
cedented strides  to  empire  so  colossal,  outvying  the  an- 
tique, beyond  Alexander's,  beyond  the  proudest  sway  of 
Rome.  In  vain  do  we  annex  Texas,  California,  Alaska, 
and  reach  north  for  Canada  and  south  for  Cuba.  It  is 
as  if  we  were  somehow  being  endovred  with  a  vast  and 
more  and  more  thoroughly-appointed  body,  and  then 
left  with  little  or  no  soul. 

Let  me  illustrate  further,  as  I  wi'ite,  with  current  ob- 
servations, localities,  &c.  The  subject  is  important,  and 
will  bear  repetition.     After  an  absence,  I  am  now  (Sop- 


Democratic  Vistas.  13 

tember,  1870,)  again  in  New  York  City  and  BrooMyn,  on 
a  few  weeks'  vacation.  The  splendor,  picturesqueness, 
and  oceanic  amplitude  and  rush  of  these  great  cities, 
the  unsurpassed  situation,  rivers  and  bay,  sparkling  sea- 
tides,  costly  and  lofty  new  buildings,  the  facades  of 
marble  and  iron,  of  original  grandeur  and  elegance  of 
design,  with  the  masses  of  gay  color,  the  preponderance 
of  white  and  blue,  the  flags  flying,  the  endless  ships, 
the  tumultuous  streets,  Broadway,  the  heavy,  low,  mu- 
sical roar,  hardly  ever  intermitted,  even  at  night ;  the 
jobbers'  houses,  the  rich  shops,  the  wharves,  the  great 
Central  Park,  and  the  Brooklyn  Park  of  Hills,  (as  I 
wander  among  them  this  beautiful  fall  weather,  musing, 
watching,  absorbing,) — the  assemblages  of  the  citizens 
in  their  groups,  conversations,  trade,  evening  amuse- 
ments, or  along  the  by-quarters — these,  I  say,  and  the 
like  of  these,  completely  satisfy  my  senses  of  power,  ful- 
ness, motion,  &c.,  and  give  me,  through  such  senses 
and  appetites,  and  through  my  esthetic  conscience,  a 
continued  exaltation  and  absolute  fulfilment.  Always, 
and  more  and  more,  as  I  cross  the  East  and  North 
rivers,  the  ferries,  or  with  the  j)ilots  in  their  pilot-houses, 
or  pass  an  hour  in  Wall  street,  or  the  gold  exchange,  I 
realize,  (if  Vv^e  must  admit  such  partialisms,)  that  not 
Nature  alone  is  great  in  her  fields  of  freedom  and  the 
open  air,  in  her  storms,  the  shows  of  night  and  day, 
the  mountains,  forests,  seas — but  in  the  artificial,  the 
work  of  man  too  is  equally  great — in  this  profusion  of 
teeming  humanity,  in  these  ingenuities,  streets,  goods, 
houses,  ships — these  seething,  hurrying,  feverish  crowds 
of  men,  their  complicated  business  genius,  (not  least 
among  the  geniuses,)  and  all  this  mighty,  many-threaded 
wealth  and  industry  concentrated  here. 

But  sternly  discarding,  shutting  our  eyes  to  the  glow 
and  grandeur  of  the  general  effect,  coming  down  to  what 
is  of  the  only  real  importance.  Personalities,  and  exam- 
ining minutely,  we  question,  we  ask,  Ai'e  there,  indeed, 
3Ien  here  worthy  the  name  ?  Are  there  athletes  ?  Are 
there  perfect  women,  to  match  the  generous  material 
luxuriance?  Is  there  a  pervading  atmosphere  of  beau- 
tiful manners?    Are  there  crops  of  fine  youths,  and  ma- 


14  Democratic  Vistas. 

jestic  old  persons?  Are  there  arts  worthy  Freedom, 
and  a  rich  people  ?  Is  there  a  great  moral  and  religious 
civilization — the  only  justification  of  a  great  material 
one  ? 

Confess  that  rather  to  severe  eyes,  using  the  moral 
microscope  upon  humanity,  a  sort  of  dry  and  flat  Sa- 
hara appears,  these  cities,  crowded  with  petty  grotesques, 
malformations,  phantoms,  playing  meaningless  antics. 
Confess  that  everywhere,  in  shop,  street,  church,  theatre, 
bar-room,  official  chair,  are  pervading  flijopancy  and  vul- 
garity, low  cunning,  infidelity — everywhere,  the  youth 
puny,  impudent,  foppish,  prematurely  ripe — everywhere 
an  abnormal  libidinousness,  unhealthy  forms,  male,  fe- 
male, painted,  padded,  dyed,  chignoned,  muddy  com- 
j)lesions,  bad  blood,  the  capacity  for  good  motherhood 
deceasing  or  deceased,  shallow  notions  of  beauty,  with 
a  range  of  manners,  or  rather  lack  of  manners,  (consid- 
ering the  advantages  enjoyed,)  probably  the  meanest  to 
be  seen  in  the  world.* 

Of  all  this,  and  these  lamentable  conditions,  to  breathe 
into  them  the  breath  recuperative  of  sane  and  heroic 
life,  I  say  a  new  founded  Literatiu'e,  not  merely  to  copy 
and  reflect  existing  surfaces,  or  pander  to  what  is  called 
taste — not  only  to  amuse,  pass  away  time,  celebrate  the 
beautiful,  the  refined,  the   past,   or  exhibit  technical. 


*  Of  these  rapidly-sketclied  portraitures,  hiatuses,  the  two  which 
seem  to  me  most  serious  are,  for  one,  the  condition,  absence,  or 
perhaps  the  singular  abeyance,  of  moral,  conscientious  fibre  all 
through  American  society;  and,  for  another,  the  appalling  deple- 
tion of  women  in  their  powers  of  sane  athletic  maternity,  their 
crowning  attribute,  and  ever  making  the  woman,  in  loftiest 
spheres,  superior  to  the  man. 

I  have  sometimes  thought,  indeed,  that  the  sole  avenue  and 
means  of  a  reconstructed  sociology  depended,  primarily,  on  a  new 
birth,  elevation,  expansion,  invigoration  of  woman,  affording,  for 
races  to  come,  (as  the  conditions  that  antedate  birth  are  indispen- 
sable,) a  perfect  motherhood.  Great,  great,  indeed  far  greater 
than  they  know,  is  the  sphere  of  woman.  But  doubtless  the 
question  of  such  new  sociology  all  goes  together,  includes  many 
varied  and  complex  influences  and  premises,  and  the  man  as  well 
as  the  woman,  and  the  woman  as  well  as  the  man. 


Democeatic  Vistas.  15 

rhythmic,  or  grammatical  dexterity — but  a  Literature 
underlying  life,  religious,  consistent  with  science,  hand- 
ling the  elements  and  forces  with  competent  power, 
teaching  and  training  men — and,  as  perhaps  the  most 
precious  of  its  results,  achieving  the  entire  redemption 
of  woman  out  of  these  incredible  holds  and  webs  of  sil- 
Hness,  millinery,  and  every  kind  of  dyspeptic  depletion 
— and  thus  insuring  to  The  States  a  strong  and  sweet 
Female  Eace,  a  race  of  perfect  Mothers — is  v^^hat  is 
needed. 

And  now,  in  the  full  conception  of  these  facts  and 
points,  and  all  that  they  infer,  pro  and  con — with  yet 
unshaken  faith  in  the  elements  of  the  American  masses, 
the  composites,  of  both  sexes,  and  even  considered  as 
individuals — and  ever  recognizing  in  them  the  broad- 
est bases  of  the  best  literary  and  esthetic  appreciation 
— I  proceed  with  my  speculations.  Vistas. 

First,  let  us  see  what  we  can  make  out  of  a  brief,  gen- 
eral, sentimental  consideration  of  political  Democracy, 
and  whence  it  has  arisen,  with  regard  to  some  of  its 
current  features,  as  an  aggregate,  and  as  the  basic 
structure  of  oui-  future  literature  and  authorship.  We 
shall,  it  is  true,  quickly  and  continually  find  the  origin- 
idea  of  the  singleness  of  man,  individualism,  asserting 
itself,  and  cropping  forth,  even  from  the  opposite  ideas. 
But  the  mass,  or  lump  character,  for  imperative  I'ea- 
sons,  is  to  be  ever  carefully  weighed,  borne  in  mind, 
and  provided  for.  Only  fi'om  it,  and  from  its  proper 
regulation  and  potency,  comes  the  other,  comes  the 
chance  of  Individuahsm.  The  two  are  contradictory, 
but  our  task  is  to  reconcile  them.* 

*  The  question  hinted  here  is  one  which  time  only  can  answer. 
Must  not  the  virtue  of  modern  Individualism,  continually  enlarg- 
ing, usurping  all,  seriously  affect,  perhaps  keep  down  entirely,  in 
America,  the  like  of  the  ancient  virtue  of  Patriotism,  the  fervid 
and  absorbing  love  of  general  country  ?  I  have  no  doubt  myself 
that  the  two  ^vill  merge,  and  ■will  mutually  profit  and  brace  each 
other,  and  that  from  them  a  greater  product,  a  third,  vv'ill  arise. 
But  I  feel  that  at  present  they  and  their  oppositions  ibrm  a  serious 
problem  and  paradox  in  the  United  States. 


16  Democratic  Vistas. 

The  political  history  of  the  past  may  be  siimmecT  up 
as  having  grown  out  of  what  underlies  the  words  Order, 
Safety,  Caste,  and  especially  out  of  the  need  of  .'.ome 
prompt  deciding  Authority,  and  of  Cohesion,  at  all 
cost.  Leaping  time,  we  come  to  the  period  within  the 
memory  of  joeople  now  living,  when,  as  from  some  lair 
where  they  had  slumbered  long,  accumulating  wrath, 
sprang  up  and  are  yet  active,  (1790,  and  on  even  to  the 
present,  1870,)  those  noisy  eructations,  destructive  icon- 
oclasms,  a  fierce  sense  of  wrongs,  and  amid  which  moves 
the  Form,  well  known  in  modern  history,  in  the  old 
world,  stained  with  much  blood,  and  marked  by  savage 
reactionary  clamors  and  demands.  These  bear,  mostly, 
as  on  one  enclosing  point  of  need. 

For  after  the  rest  is  said — after  the  many  time-hon- 
ored and  really  true  things  for  subordination,  experi- 
ence, rights  of  property,  &c.,  have  been  listened  to  and 
acquiesced  in — after  the  valuable  and  well-settled  state- 
ment of  our  duties  and  relations  in  society  is  thoroughly 
conned  over  and  exhausted — it  remains  to  bi'ing  forward 
and  modify  everything  else  with  the  idea  of  that  Some- 
thing a  man  is,  (last  precious  consolation  of  the  drudg- 
ing poor,)  standing  apart  from  all  else,  divine  in  his 
own  right,  and  a  woman  in  hers,  sole  and  untouchable 
by  any  cauous  of  authority,  or  any  rule  derived  from 
precedent,  state-safety,  the  acts  of  legislatures,  or  even 
from  what  is  called  religion,  modesty,  or  art. 

The  radiation  of  this  truth  is  the  key  of  the  most  sig- 
nificant doings  of  our  immediately  preceding  three 
centuries,  and  has  been  the  political  genesis  and  life  of 
America.  Advancing  visibly,  it  still  more  advances  in- 
visibly. Underneath  the  tiuctuations  of  the  expressions 
of  society,  as  well  as  the  movements  of  the  pohtics  of 
the  leading  nations  of  the  world,  we  see  steadily  press- 
ing ahead,  and  strengthening  itself,  even  in  the  midst 
of  immense  tendencies  toward  aggi'egation,  this  image 
of  completeness  in  separatism,  of  individual  personal 
dignity,  of  a  single  person,  either  male  or  female,  char- 
acterized in  the  main,  not  from  extrinsic  acquirements 
or  position,  but  in  the  pride  of  himself  or  herself  alone; 
and,  as  an  eventual  conclusion  and  summing  up,  (or 


Democratic  Vistas.  17 

else  the  entire  scheme  of  things  is  aimless,  a  cheat,  a 
crash,)  the  simple  idea  that  the  last,  best  dependence  is 
to  be  upon  Humanity  itself,  and  its  own  inherent,  nor- 
mal, full-grown  quaHties,  without  any  superstitious  suij- 
port  whatever.  This  idea  of  perfect  individualism  it  is 
indeed  that  deepest  tinges  and  gives  character  to  the 
idea  of  the  Aggregate.  For  it  is  mainly  or  altogether 
to  serve  independent  separatism  that  we  favor  a  strong 
generalization,  consolidation.  As  it  is  to  give  the  best 
vitality  and  freedom  to  the  rights  of  the  States,  (every 
bit  as  important  as  the  right  of  Nationality,  the  imion,) 
that  we  insist  on  the  identity  of  the  Union  at  all  hazards. 

The  i^urpose  of  Democracy — supplanting  old  belief 
in  the  necessary  absoluteness  of  established  dynastic 
rulership,  temporal,  ecclesiastical,  and  scholastic,  as 
furnishing  the  only  security  against  chaos,  crime,  and 
ignorance — is,  through  many  transmigrations,  and  amid 
endless  ridicules,  arguments,  and  ostensible  failures,  to 
illustrate,  at  all  hazards,  this  doctrine  or  theory  that 
man,  properly  trained  in  sanest,  highest  freedom,  may 
and  must  become  a  law,  and  series  of  laws,  unto  him- 
self, surrounding  and  providing  for,  not  only  his  own 
personal  control,  but  all  his  relations  to  other  individ- 
uals, and  to  the  State  ;  and  that,  while  other  theories, 
as  ill  the  past  histories  of  nations,  have  proved  wise 
enough,  ancl  indispensable  perhaps  for  their  conditions, 
this,  as  matters  now  stand  in  our  civilized  world,  is  the 
only  Scheme  worth  working  from,  as  warranting  results 
like  those  of  Nature's  law^s,  reliable,  when  once  estab- 
lished, to  carry  on  themselves. 

The  argument  of  the  matter  is  extensive,  and,  we  ad- 
mit, by  no  means  all  on  one  side.  What  we  shall  offer 
will  be  far,  far  from  sufficient.  But  while  leaving  un- 
said much  that  should  properly  even  prepare  the  way 
for  the  treatment  of  this  many-sided  question  of  politi- 
cal liberty,  equality,  or  republicanism — leaving  the  whole 
history  and  consideration  of  the  Feudal  Plan  and  its 
products,  embodying  Humanity,  its  politics  and  civili- 
zation, through  the  retrospect  of  past  time,  (which  Plan 
and  products,  indeed,  make  up  all  of  the  past,  and  a 
major  part  of  the  present) — Leaving  unanswered,  at 


18  Demockatig  Vi3TAS. 

least  hj  any  specific  and  local  answer,  many  a  well- 
wrought  argument  and  instance,  and  many  a  conscien- 
tious declamatory  cry  and  warning — as,  very  lately, 
from  an  eminent  and  venerable  person  abroad* — 
things,  problems,  full  of  doubt,  dread,  suspense,  (not 
new  to  me,  but  old  occupiers  of  many  an  anxious  hour 
in  city's  din,  or  night's  silence,)  we  still  may  give  a  page 
or  so,  whose  drift  is  opportune.  Time  alone  can  finally 
answer  these  things.  But  as  a  substitute  in  passing,  let 
us,  even  if  fragmentarily,  throw  forth  a  short  direct  or 
indirect  suggestion  of  the  premises  of  that  other  Plan, 
in  the  new  spirit,  under  the  new  forms,  started  here  in 
our  America. 

As  to  the  political  section  of  Democracy,  which  intro- 
duces and  breaks  ground  for  further  and  vaster  sec- 
tions, few  probably  are  the  minds,  even  in  These  Re- 
publican States,  that  fully  comprehend  the  aptness  of 
that  phrase,  "the  Government  or  the  People,  by  the 
People,  foe  the  People,"  which  we  inherit  from  the  lips 
of  Abraham  Lincoln  ;  a  formula  whose  verbal  shape  is 
homely  wit,  but  whose  scope  includes  both  the  totalit}'^ 
and  all  minutise  of  the  lesson. 

The  People !  Like  our  huge  earth  itself,  which,  to 
ordinary  scansion,  is  full  of  vulgar  contradictions  and 
ofience,  Man,  viewed  in  the  lump,  displeases,  and  is  a 
constant  puzzle  and  afii'ont  to  the  merely  educated 
classes.  The  rare,  cosmical,  artist-mind,  lit  with  the 
Infinite,  alone  confronts  his  manifold  and  oceanic  qual- 
ities, but  taste,  intelligence  and  culture,  (so-called,)  have 
been  against  the  masses,  and  I'emain  so.  There  is 
plenty  of  glamour  about  the  most  damnable  crimes  and 

"•'■  '■  Shooting  Niagara." — I  was  at  first  roused  to  mucli  anger 
a,nd  abuse  by  this  Essay  from  Mr.  Carlyle,  so  insulting  to  the  the- 
ory of  America — but  happening  to  think  afterwards  how  I  liad 
more  than  once  been  in  the  like  mood,  during  which  his  essay 
was  evidently  cast,  and  seen  persons  and  things  in  the  same  light, 
(indeed  some  might  say  there  are  signs  of  the  same  feeling  in  this 
book) — I  have  since  read  it  again,  not  only  as  a  study,  expressing 
as  it  does  certain  judgments  from  the  highest  Feudal  point  of 
view,  but  have  read  it  with  respect,  as  coming  from  an  earnest 
soul,  and  as  contributing  certain  sharp-cutting  metiillic  grains, 
which,  if  not  gold  or  silver,  may  be  good  hard,  honest  iron. 


Democratic  Vistas.  19 

hoggish  meannesses,  special  and  general,  of  the  Fendal 
and  dynastic  world  over  there,  with  its  ]X7'sonnel  of 
lords  and  queens  and  coiu'ts,  so  well-di'essed  and  so 
handsome.  But  the  Peojole  are  ungrammatical,  untidy, 
and  their  sins  gaunt  and  ill-bred. 

Literature,  strictly  considered,  has  never  recognized 
the  People,  and,  whatever  may  be  said,  does  not  to-day. 
Speaking  generally,  the  tendencies  of  hterature,  as  hith- 
erto pursued,  have  been  to  make  mostly  critical  and 
querulous  men.  It  seems  as  if,  so  far,  there  were  some 
natural  repugTiance  between  a  literaiy  and  professional 
life,  and  the  rude  rank  spirit  of  the  Democracies.  There 
is,  in  later  hterature,  a  treatment  of  benevolence,  a 
charity  business,  rife  enough  it  is  true  ;  but  I  know 
nothing  more  rare,  eveu  in  this  country,  than  a  fit  scien- 
tific estimate  and  reverent  ajjpreciation  of  the  Peoj)le — 
of  their  measureless  wealth  of  latent  power  and  capacity, 
their  vast,  artistic  contrasts  of  lights  and  shades — with, 
in  America,  their  entire  reliability  in  emergencies,  and 
a  certain  breadth  of  historic  grandeui",  of  peace  or  war, 
far  suspassing  all  the  vaunted  samples  of  book-heroes, 
or  any  haiit  ton  coteries,  in  all  the  records  of  the  world. 

The  movements  of  the  late  Secession  war,  and  their 
results,  to  any  sense  that  studies  well  and  compre- 
hends them,  show  that  Popular  Democracy,  whatever 
its  faults  and  dangers,  practically  justifies  itself  beyond 
the  proudest  claims  and  wildest  hopes  of  its  enthusiasts. 
Probably  no  future  age  can  know,  but  I  well  know,  how 
the  gist  of  this  fiercest  and  most  resolute  of  the  world's 
warhke  contentions  resided  exclusively  in  the  unnamed, 
unknown  rank  and  file  ;  and  how  the  brunt  of  its  labor 
of  death  was,  to  all  essential  purposes,  Volunteered. 
The  People,  of  their  own  choice,  fighting,  dying  for 
their  own  idea,  insolently  attacked  by  the  Secession- 
Slave-Pow^er,  and  its  very  existence  imperiled.  De- 
scending to  detail,  entering  any  of  the  armies,  and 
mixing  with  the  private  soldiers,  we  see  and  have  seen 
august  spectacles.  We  have  seen  the  alacrity  with  which 
the  American-born  populace,  the  peaceablest  and  most 
good-natured  race  in  the  world,  and  the  most  personally 
independent  and  intelligent,  and  the  least  fitted  to  submit 


20  Democratic  Vistas. 

to  the  irksomeness  and  exasperation  of  regimental  disci- 
pline, sprang,  at  the  first  tap  of  the  dram,  to  arms — not 
for  gain,  nor  even  glory,  nor  to  repel  invasion — but  for 
an  emblem,  a  mere  abstraction — for  the  life,  the  safety 
of  the  Flag.  We  have  seen  the  unequaled  docility  and 
obedience  of  these  soldiers.  We  have  seen  them  tried 
long  and  long  by  hojDelessness,  mismanagement,  and  by 
defeat ;  have  seen  the  incredible  slaughter  toward  or 
through  which  the  armies,  (as  at  first  Fredericksburg, 
and  afterward  at  the  Wilderness,)  still  unhesitating- 
ly obeyed  orders  to  advance.  We  have  seen  them 
in  trench,  or  crouching  behind  breastwork,  or  tramp- 
ing in  deep  mud,  or  amid  pouring  rain  or  thick- 
falling  snow,  or  under  forced  marches  in  hottest  summer 
(as  on  the  road  to  get  to  Gettysburg) — vast  suffocating 
Gwarms,  divisions,  corps,  with  every  single  man  so  gTimed 
and  black  with  sweat  and  dust,  his  own  mother  would  not 
have  known  him — his  clothes  all  dirty,  stained  and  torn, 
with  sour,  accumulated  sweat  for  perfume — many  a 
comrade,  perhaps  a  brother,  sun-struck,  staggering  out, 
dying,  by  the  roadside,  of  exhaustion — yet  the  great 
bulk  bearing  steadily  on,  cheery  enough,  hollow-bellied 
from  hunger,  but  sinewy  with  unconquerable  resolution. 
We  have  seen  this  race  proved  by  wholesale  by 
drearier,  yet  more  fearful  tests — the  wound,  the  ampu- 
tation, the  shattered  face  or  limb,  the  slow,  hot  fever, 
long,  impatient  anchorage  in  bed,  and  all  the  forms  of 
maiming,  operation  and  disease.  Alas !  America  have 
we  seen,  though  only  in  her  early  youth,  already  to 
hospital  brought.  There  have  we  watched  these  sol- 
diers, many  of  them  only  boys  in  years — marked  their 
decorum,  their  rehgious  nature  and  fortitude,  and  their 
sweet  affection.  Wholesale,  truly.  For  at  the  front,  and 
through  the  camps,  in  countless  tents,  stood  the  regi- 
mental, brigade  and  division  hospitals  ;  while  every- 
where amid  the  laud,  in  or  near  cities,  rose  clusters  of 
huge,  white-washed,  crowded,  one-story  wooden  bar- 
racks, (Washington  City  alone,  with  its  subui'bs,  at 
one  period,  containing  in  her  Army  hospitals  of  this 
kind,  50,000  wounded  and  sick  men) — and  there  ruled 
Agony  with  bitter  scourge,  yet  seldom  brought  a  cry  ; 


Democratic  Vistas.  21 

and  there  stalked  Death  by  day  and  night  along  the 
narrow  aisles  between  the  rows  of  cots,  or  by  the 
blankets  on  the  ground,  and  touched  lightly  many  a 
poor  sufferer,  often  with  blessed,  welcome  touch. 

I  know  not  whether  I  shall  be  understood,  but  I 
realize  that  it  is  finally  from  what  I  learned  personally 
mixing  in  such  scenes  that  I  am  now  penning  these 
pages.  One  night  in  the  gloomiest  period  of  the  vvar, 
in  the  Patent  Offica  Hospital  in  Washington  City,  as  I 
stood  by  the  bedside  of  a  Pennsylvania  soldier,  who  lay, 
conscious  of  quick  approaching  death,  yet  perfectly  calm, 
and  with  noble,  spiritual  manner,  the  veteran  surgeon, 
turning  aside,  said  to  me,  that  though  he  had  witnessed 
many,  many  deaths  of  soldiers,  and  had  been  a  worker 
at  Ball  Kun,  Antietam,  Fredericksburg,  &c.,  he  had 
not  seen  yet  the  first  case  of  man  or  boy  that  met  the 
approach  of  dissolution  with  cowardly  qualms  or  terror. 
My  own  observation  fidly  bears  out  the  remark. 

What  have  we  here,  if  not,  towering  above  all  talk 
and  argument,  the  plentifully-supphed,  last-needed 
proof  of  Democracy,  in  its  pei'sonalities  ?  Curiously 
enough,  too,  the  proof  on  this  point  comes,  I  should  say, 
every  bit  as  much  from  the  South,  as  from  the  North. 
Although  I  have  spoken  only  of  the  latter,  yet  I  delib- 
erately include  all.  Grand,  common  stock !  to  me  the 
accomplished  and  convincing  growth,  prophetic  of  the 
future  ;  proof  undeniable  to  sharpest  sense,  of  perfect 
beauty,  tenderness  and  pluck,  that  never  Peudal  lord, 
nor  Greek,  nor  .  Roman  breed,  3'et  rivaled.  Let  no 
tongue  ever  speak  in  disparagement  of  the  American 
races,  North  or  South,  to  one  who  has  been  through  the 
war  in  the  great  army  hospitals. 

Meantime,  general  Humanity,  (for  to  that  we  return, 
as,  for  our  purposes,  what  it  really  is,  to  bear  in  mind,) 
has  always,  in  eveiy  department,  been  full  of  perverse 
maleficence,  and  is  so  yet.  In  downcast  hours  the  Soul 
thinks  it  always  will  be — but  soon  recovers  from  such 
sickly  moods.  I,  as  Democrat,  see  clearly  enough,  (as 
already  illustrated,)  the  crude,  defective  streaks  in  all 
the  strata  of  the  common  people  ;  the  "specimens  and 
vast  collections  of  the  ignorant,  the  credulous,  the  unfit 


22  Democratic  yisTAS. 

and  uncoutli,  the  incaj)able,  and  the  very  low  and  poor. 
The  eminent  person  just  mentioned,  sneeringiy  asks 
whether  we  expect  to  elevate  and  improve  a  Nation's 
politics  by  absorbing  such  morbid  collections  and  qual- 
ities therein.  The  point  is  a  formidable  one,  and  there 
will  doubtless  always  be  numbers  of  solid  and  reflective 
citizens  who  will  never  get  over  it.  Our  answer  is  gen- 
eral, and  is  involved  in  the  scope  and  letter  of  this  essay. 
We  beheve  the  ulterior  object  of  pohtical  and  all  other 
government,  (having,  of  course,  provided  for  the  police, 
the  safety  of  life,  property,  and  for  the  basic  statute  and 
common  law,  and  their  administration,  always  first  in 
order,)  to  be,  among  the  rest,  not  merely  to  rule,  to  re- 
press disorder,  &c.,  but  to  develop,  to  open  up  to  culti- 
vation, to  encourage  the  possibilities  of  all  beneficent 
and  manly  outcroppage,  and  of  that  aspiration  for  inde- 
pendence, and  the  pride  and  self-respect  latent  in  all 
characters,  (Or,  if  there  be  exceptions,  we  cannot,  fix- 
ing otu"  eyes  on  them  alone,  make  theirs  the  rule  for  all.) 

I  say  the  mission  of  government,  henceforth,  in  civil- 
ized lands,  is  not  repression  alone,  and  not  authority 
alone,  not  even  of  law,  nor  by  that  favorite  standard  of 
the  eminent  writer,  the  rule  of  the  best  men,  the  born 
heroes  and  captains  of  the  race,  (as  if  such  ever,  or  one 
time  out  of  a  hundred,  got  into  the  big  places,  elective 
or  dynastic!) — but,  higher  than  the  highest  arbitrary 
rule,  to  train  communities  tlrrough  all  their  grades,  be- 
ginning with  individuals  and  ending  there  again,  to  rule 
themselves. 

What  Christ  appeared  for  in  the  moral-spiritual  field 
for  Human-kind,  namely,  that  in  respect  to  the  absolute 
Soul,  there  is  in  the  jjossession  of  such  by  each  single 
individual,  something  so  transcendent,  so  incapable  of 
gTadations,  (like  life,)  that,  to  that  extent,  it  places  all 
beings  on  a  common  level,  utterly  regardless  of  the  dis- 
tinctions of  intellect,  virtue,  station,  or  any  height  or 
lowliness  whatever — is  talhed  in  hke  manner,  in  this 
other  field,  by  Democracy's  rule  that  men,  the  Nation, 
as  a  common  aggregate  of  li\dng  identities,  afibrding 
in  each  a  separate  and  complete  subject  for  freedom, 
worldly  thrift  and  hapx^iness,  and  for  a  fair  chance  for 


Democratic  Vistas.  23 

growth,  and  for  protection  in  citizenship,  &c.,  must,  to 
the  poHtical  extent  of  the  suffrage  or  vote,  if  no  further, 
be  placed,  in  each  and  in  the  whole,  on  one  broad,  pri- 
mary, universal,  common  platform. 

The  purpose  is  not  altogether  direct ;  perhaps  it  is 
more  indii'ect.  For  it  is  not  that  Democracy  is  of  ex- 
haustive account,  in  itself.  Perhaps,  indeed,  it  is,  (like 
Natui'e,)  of  no  account  in  itself.  It  is  that,  as  we  see, 
it  is  the  best,  perhaps  only,  fit  and  full  means,  formu- 
later,  general  caller-forth,  trainer,  for  the  million,  not 
for  grand  material  personalities  only,  but  for  immortal 
souls.  To  be  a  voter  with  the  rest  is  not  so  much  ;  and 
this,  like  every  institute,  will  have  its  imperfections. 
But  to  become  an  enfi'anchised  man,  and  now,  impedi- 
ments removed,  to  stand  and  start  without  humiliation, 
and  equal  with  the  rest ;  to  commence,  or  have  the  road 
cleared  to  commence,  the  grand  experiment  of  develop- 
ment, whose  end,  (perhaps  requiring  several  genera- 
tions,) m?.y  be  the  forming  of  a  full-grown  man  or 
woman  — that  is  something.  To  ballast  the  State  is 
also  secured,  and  in  our  times  is  to  be  secured,  in  no 
other  way. 

We  do  not,  (at  any  rate  I  do  not,)  put  it  either  on  the 
ground  that  the  People,  the  masses,  even  the  best  of 
them,  are,  in  their  latent  or  exhibited  quahties,  essen- 
tially sensible  and  good — nor  on  the  ground  of  their 
rights  ;  but  that,  good  or  bad,  rights  or  no  rights,  the 
Democratic  formula  is  the  only  safe  and  preservative 
one  for  coming  times.  We  endow  the  masses  vnth  the 
suffrage  for  their  own  sake,  no  doubt ;  then,  perha]  s 
still  more,  from  another  point  of  view,  for  community's 
sake.  Leading  the  rest  to  the  sentimentalists,  we  jore- 
sent  Freedom  as  sufficient  in  its  scientific  aspects,  cold 
as  ice,  reasoning,  deductive,  clear  and  jDassionless  as 
crystal. 

Democracy  too  is  law,  and  of  the  strictest,  amplest 
kind.  Many  suppose,  (and  often  in  its  own  ranks  the 
error,)  that  it  means  a  throwing  aside  of  law,  and  run- 
ning riot.  But,  briefly,  it  is  the  superior  law,  not  alone 
that  of  physical  force,  the  body,  which,  adding  to,  it 
supersedes  with  that  of  the  spirit.    Law  is  the  unshaka- 


24  Democratic*  Vistas. 

ble  order  of  tlie  universe  forever  ;  and  the  law  over  all, 
and  law  of  laws,  is  the  law  of  successions  ;  that  of  the 
superior  law,  in  time,  gradually  supplanting  and  over- 
whelming the  inferior  one.  (While,  for  myself,  I  would 
cheerfully  agree — first  covenanting  that  the  formative 
tendencies  shall  be  administered  in  favor,  or,  at  least 
not  against  it,  and  that  this  reservation  be  closely  con- 
strued— that  until  the  individual  or  community'  show 
due  signs,  or  be  so  minor  and  fractional  as  not  to  en- 
danger the  State,  the  condition  of  authoritative  tutel- 
age may  continue,  and  self-government  must  abide  its 
time.) 

— Nor  is  the  esthetic  point,  always  an  important  one, 
without  fascination  for  highest  aiming  souls.  The  com- 
mon ambition  strains  for  elevations,  to  become  some 
privileged  exclusive.  The  master  sees  greatness  and 
health  in  being  part  of  the  mass.  Nothing  will  do  as 
well  as  common  ground.  Would  you  have  in  yourself 
the  divine,  vast,  general  law?  Then  merge  j'ourself 
in  it. 

And,  topping  Democracy,  this  most  alluring  record, 
that  ib  alone  can  bind,  and  ever  seeks  to  bind,  all  ra- 
tions, all  men,  of  however  various  and  distant  lands, 
into  a  brotherhood,  a  family.  It  is  the  old,  yet  ever- 
modern  dream  of  Earth,  out  of  her  eldest  and  her 
youngest,  her  fond  philosophers  and  poets.  Not  that 
half  only,  Individualism,  which  isolates.  There  is  an- 
other half,  which  is  Adhesiveness  or  Love,  that  fuses, 
ties  and  aggregates,  making  the  races  comrades,  and 
fraternizing  all.  Both  are  to  be  vitalized  by  Religion, 
(sole  worthiest  elevator  of  man  or  State,)  breathing  into 
the  proud,  material  tissues,  the  breath  of  life.  For  I 
say  at  the  core  of  Democracy,  finally,  is  the  Religious 
element.  All  the  Religions,  old  and  new,  are  there. 
Nor  may  the  Scheme  step  forth,  clothed  in  resplendent 
beauty  and  command,  till  these,  bearing  the  best,  the 
latest  fruit,  the  Spiritual,  the  aspii'ational,  shall  fully 
appear. 

A  portion  of  our  pages  we  might  indite  ^Yith  refer- 
ence toward  Europe,  especially  the  British  jjart  of  it, 
more  than  our  own  land,  and  thus,  perhaps  not  abso- 


Democratic  Vistas.  25 

lutely  needed  for  the  Lome  reader.  But  tlie  whole  ques- 
tion hangs  together,  and  fastens  and  hnks  all  peoples. 
The  Liberalist  of  to-day  has  tins  advantage  over  antique 
or  medieval  times,  that  his  doctrine  seeks  not  only  to 
universalize,  but  to  individualize.  Then  the  great  Vv^ord 
Solidarity  has  arisen. 

I  say  of  all  dangers  to  a  Nation,  as  things  exist  in 
our  day,  there  can  be  no  greater  one  than  having  cer- 
tain portions  of  the  people  set  off  fi'om  the  rest  by  a 
line  di'awn — they  not  privileged  as  others,  but  degraded, 
humihated,  made  of  no  account.  Much  quackery  teems, 
of  coarse,  even  on  Democracy's  side,  yet  does  not  really 
afiect  the  orbic  quality  of  the  mattei-.  To  work  in,  if 
we  may  so  term  it,  and  justify  God,  his  divine  aggre- 
gate, the  People,  (or,  the  veritable  horned  and  sharp- 
tailed  Devil,  his  aggregate,  if  there  be  who  convulsively 
insist  upon  it,) — this,  I  say,  is  what  Democracy  is  for; 
and  this  is  what  our  America  means,  and  is  doing — may 
I  not  say,  has  done  ?  If  not,  she  means  nothing  more, 
and  does  nothing  more,  than  any  other  land.  And  as, 
by  virtue  of  its  kosmical,  antiseptic  power,  Nature's 
stomach  is  fully  strong  enough  not  only  to  digest  the 
morbific  matter  always  presented,  not  to  be  turned  aside, 
and  perhaps,  indeed,  intuitively  gravitating  thither — but 
even  to  change  such  contributions  into  nutriment  for 
highest  use  and  life — so  American  Democracy's.  That 
is  the  lesson  we,  these  days,  send  over  to  European 
lands  by  every  western  breeze. 

And,  truly,  whatever  may  be  said  in  the  way  of  ab- 
stract argument,  for  or  against  the  theory  of  a  wider 
democratizing  of  institutions  in  any  civilized  countr^^, 
much  trouble  might  well  be  saved  to  all  European  lands 
by  recognizing  this  palpable  fact,  (for  a  palj)able  fact  it 
is,)  that  some  form  of  such  democratizing  is  about  the 
only  resource  now  left.  Tfial,  or  chronic  dissatisfaction 
continued,  mutterings  which  grow  annually  louder  and 
louder,  till,  in  due  course,  and  pretty  swiftly  in  most 
cases,  the  inevitable  crisis,  crash,  dynastic  ruin.  Any- 
thing worthy  to  be  called  statesmanship  in  the  Old 
World,  I  should  say,  among  the   advanced   students, 


2(>  Democratic  Vistas. 

adepts,  or  men  of  any  brains,  does  not  debate  to-day 
whether  to  bold  on,  attempting  to  lean  baclc  and  mon- 
archize,  or  to  look  forward  and  democratize — but  how, 
and  in  what  degree  and  part,  most  prudently  to  demo- 
cratize. The  diiSculties  of  the  transfer  may  be  fearful ; 
perhaps  none  here  in  our  America  can  tralj  know  them. 
T,  for  one,  fully  acknowledge  them,  and  sympathize 
deeply.  But  there  is  Time,  and  must  be  Faith ;  and 
Opportunities,  though  gradual  and  slow,  will  e-very- 
where  abroad  be  born. 

There  is  (turning  home  again,)  a  thoi-rght,  or  fact, 
I  must  not  forget — subtle  and  vast,  dear  to  America, 
twin-sister  of  its  Democracy — so  ligatured  indeed  to  it, 
that  cither's  death,  if  not  the  other's  also,  would  make 
that  other  Kve  out  life,  dragging  a  corpse,  a  loathsome 
horrid  tag  and  burden  forever  at  its  feet.  AYhat  the 
idea  of  Messiah  was  to  the  ancient  race  of  Israel, 
through  storm  and  calm,  through  public  glory  and 
their  name's  humihation,  tenacious,  refusing  to  be  ar- 
gued with,  shedding  all  shafts  of  ridicule  and  disbelief, 
undestroyed  by  captivities,  battles,  deaths — for  neither 
the  scalding  blood  of  war,  nor  the  rotted  ichor  of  peace 
could  ever  wash  it  out,  nor  has  yet — a  great  Idea,  bed- 
ded in  Judah's  heart — som'ce  of  ihc  loftiest  Poetry  the 
world  yet  knows — continuing  on  the  same,  thoaigh  all 
else  varies — the  spinal  thread  of  the  incredible  romance 
of  that  people's  career  along  five  thousand  years, — So 
runs  this  thought,  this  fact,  amid  oiu'  own  land's  race 
and  history.  It  is  the  thought  of  Oneness,  averaging, 
including  all ;  of  Identity — the  indissoluble  sacred 
Union  of  These  States. 

The  eager  and  often  inconsiderate  appeals  of  reform- 
ers and  revolutionists  are  indispensable  to  counter- 
balance the  inertness  and  fossilism  making  so  large  a 
part  of  human  institutions.  The  latter  will  always  take 
care  of  themselves — the  danger  being  that  they  rapidly 
tend  to  ossifj'  us.  The  former  is  to  be  treated  with  in- 
dulgence, and  even  respect.  As  circulation  to  air,  so  is 
agitation  raid  a  plentiful  degree  of  speculative  license 


De:.ioceatic  Vistas.  27 

to  political  and  mcral  sanity.  Indirect!}',  but  snrely, 
goodness,  virtue,  law,  (of  the  very  best,)  follow  Free- 
dom. These,  to  Democracy,  are  what  the  keel  is  to  the 
ship,  or  saltness  to  the  ocean. 

The  true  gravitation-hold  of  Liberalism  in  the  United 
States  will  be  a  more  universal  ownership  of  property, 
general  homesteads,  general  comfort — a  vast,  inter- 
twining reticulation  of  wealth.  As  the  human  frame, 
or,  indeed,  any  object  in  this  manifold  Universe,  is  best 
kept  together  by  the  simple  miracle  of  its  own  cohesion, 
and  the  necessity,  exercise  and  profit  thereof,  so  a  great 
and  varied  Nationality,  occupying  millions  of  square 
miles,  were  firmest  held  and  knit  by  the  jDrineiple  of  the 
safety  and  endurance  of  the  aggregate  of  its  middling 
property  owners. 

So  that,  from  another  point  of  view,  ungracious  as  it 
may  sound,  and  a  paradox  after  what  we  have  been  say- 
ing. Democracy  looks  with  suspicious,  ill-satisfied  eye 
upon  the  very  poor,  the  ignorant,  and  on  those  out  of 
business.  She  asks  for  men  and  women  with  occupa- 
tions, well-off,  owners  of  houses  and  acres,  and  with 
cash  in  the  bank — and  with  some  cravings  for  litera- 
ture, too ;  and  must  have  them,  and  hastens  to  make 
them.  Luckily,  the  seed  is  akeady  well-sown,  and  has 
taken  ineradicable  root.* 

— Huge  and  mighty  are  our  Days,  our  republican 
lands — and  most  in  their  rapid  shiftings,  their  changes, 
all  in  the  interest  of  the  Cause.     As  I  write  this  pass- 

*  For  fear  of  mistake,  I  may  as  well  distinctly  announce,  as 
cheerfully  included  in  the  model  and  standard  of  These  Vistas,  a 
practical,  stirring,  worldly,  money-making-,  even  materialistic 
character.  It  is  undeniable  that  our  farms,  stores,  offices,  dry- 
goods,  coal  and  groceries,  enginery,  cash-accounts,  trades,  earn- 
ings, markets,  &c.,  should  be  attended  to  in  earnest,  and  actively 
pursued,  just  as  if  they  had  a  real  and  permanent  existence.  I 
perceive  clearly  that  the  extreme  business  energy,  and  this  almost 
maniacal  appetite  for  wealth  prevalent  in  the  United  States,  are 
vital  parts  of  amelioration  and  progress,  and  perhaps  indispensa- 
bly needed  to  prepare  the  very  results  I  demand.  My  theory  in- 
cludes riches,  and  the  getting  of  riches,  and  the  amplest  products, 
power,  activity,  inventions,  movements,  &c.  Upon  these,  as  upon 
pa!;ntrata,  I  raise  the  edifice  designed  in  These  Vistas. 


28  DE^iocnATiG  Vistas. 

ago,  (November,  1863,)  the  din  of  disputation  rages 
aroiind  me.  Acrid  the  temper  of  the  parties,  vital  the 
pending  questions.  CongTess  convenes  ;  the  President 
sends  his  Message  ;  Reconstruction  is  still  in  abeyance  ; 
the  nominations  and  the  contest  for  the  twenty-first 
Presidentiad  draw  close,  with  loudest  threat  and  bustle. 
Of  these,  and  all  the  like  of  these,  the  eventuations  I 
know  not ;  but  well  I  know  that  behind  theiu,  and  what- 
ever their  eventuatioaas,  the  really  vital  things  remain 
safe  and  certain,  and  all  the  needed  work  goes  on. 
Time,  with  soon  or  later  supercihousness,  disjDoses  of 
Presidents,  Congressmen,  party  platforms,  and  such. 
Anon,  it  clears  the  stage  of  each  and  any  m.ortal  shred 
that  thinks  itself  so  potent  to  its  day  ;  and  at  and  after 
which,  (with  precious,  golden  exceptions  once  or  twice 
in  a  century,)  all  that  relates  to  sir  potency  is  flung  to 
moulder  in  a  bui-ial-vauit,  and  no  one  bothers  himself 
the  least  bit  about  it  afterward.  But  the  People  ever 
remains,  tendencies  continue,  and  all  the  idiocratic 
transfers  in  unbroken  chain  go  on.  In  a  fevf  years  the 
dominion-heart  of  America  will  be  far  inland,  toward 
the  West.  Our  future  National  Capitol  may  not  be 
where  the  present  one  is.  It  is  possible,  nay  likely,  that 
in  less  than  fifty  years,  it  will  migrate  a  thousand  or  two 
miles,  will  be  re-founded,  and  every  thing  belonging  to 
it  made  on  a  different  plan,  original,  far  more  superb. 
The  main  social,  political  spine-character  cf  The  States 
will  probably  run  along  the  Ohio,  Missouri  and  Missis- 
sippi Rivers,  and  west  and  north  of  them,  including 
Canada.  Those  regions,  with  the  group  of  powerful 
brothers  toward  the  Pac'fic,  (destined  to  the  mastership 
of  that  sea  and  its  countless  Paradises  of  islands,)  will 
compact  and  settle  the  traits  of  America,  with  all  the 
old  retained,  but  more  expanded,  grafted  on  newer, 
hardier,  purely  native  stock.  A  giant  growth,  compo- 
site from  the  rest,  getting  their  contribution,  absorbing 
it,  to  make  it  more  illustrious.  From  the  North,  Intel- 
lect, the  sun  of  things — also  the  idea  of  iinswayable 
Justice,  anchor  amid  the  last,  the  wildest  tempests. 
From  the  South,  the  living  Soul,  the  animus  of  good 
and  bad,  haughtilv  admitting  no  demonstration  but  i^s 


Democeatic  Vistas.  29 

own.  While  froin  the  "West  itself  comes  solid  Person- 
ality, with  blood  and  brawn,  and  the  deej)  quality  of 
all-accepting  fusion. 

Pohtical  Democracy,  as  it  exists  and  practically  works 
in  America,  with  all  its  threatening  evils,  supphes  a 
training-school  for  making  grand  young  men.  It  is 
life's  gymnasium,  not  of  good  only,  but  of  all.  We  try 
often,  though  we  fall  back  often.  A  brave  delight,  fit 
for  freedom's  athletes,  fills  these  arenas,  and  fully  satis- 
fies, out  of  the  action  in  them,  irrespective  of  success. 
Whatever  we  do  not  attain,  we  at  any  rate  attain  the 
experiences  of  the  fight,  the  hardening  of  the  strong 
campaign,  and  throb  with  ciu'rents  of  attempt  at  least. 
Time  is  ample.  Let  the  victors  come  after  us.  Not  for 
nothing  docs  evil  play  its  part  among  men.  Judging 
from  the  main  portions  of  the  histoi-y  of  the  world,  so 
far,  justice  is  always  in  jeopardy,  peace  walks  amid 
hourly  pitfalls,  and  of  slavery,  misery,  meanness,  the 
craft  of  tyrants  and  the  credulity  of  the  populace,  in 
some  of  their  protean  forms,  no  voice  can  at  any  time 
say.  They  are  not.  The  clouds  break  a  little,  and  the 
sun  shines  out — but  soon  and  certain  the  lowering  dark- 
ness falls  again,  as  if  to  last  forever.  Yet  is  there  an 
immortal  coiu'age  and  jjrophecy  in  every  sane  soul  that 
cannot,  must  not,  under  auy  circumstances,  capitulate. 
Vive,  the  attack — the  perennial  assault !  Vive,  the  un- 
popular cause — the  spu-it  that  audaciously  aims — the 
never-abandoned  efforts,  pursued  the  same  amid  oppo- 
sing proofs  and  precedents. 

— Once,  before  the  war,  (Alas!  I  dare  not  say  how 
many  times  the  mood  has  come!)  I,  too,  was  filled  with 
doubt  and  gloom.  A  foreigner,  an  acute  and  good  man, 
had  impressively  said  to  me,  that  day — putting  in  form, 
indeed,  my  own  observations  :  I  have  traveled  much  in 
the  United  States,  and  watched  their  politicians,  and 
listened  to  the  speeches  of  the  candidates,  and  read  the 
journals,  and  gone  into  the  public  houses,  and  heard 
the  ungaiarded  talk  of  men.  And  I  have  found  your 
vaunted  America  honey-combed  fi'om  top  to  toe  with 
infidelism,  even  to  itself  and  its  own  programme.     I 


30  Demockatic  Vistas. 

have  marked  tlie  brazen  hell-faces  of  secession  and 
slavery  gazing  defiantly  froui  all  the  windows  and  door- 
ways. I  have  everywhere  found,  primarily,  thieves  and 
scalliwags  arranging  the  nominations  to  offices,  and 
sometimes  tilling  the  offices  them.selves.  I  have  found 
the  North  just  as  full  of  bad  stufif  as  the  South.  Of  the 
holders  of  public  ofliee  in  the  Nation,  or  in  the  States, 
or  their  municipalities,  I  have  found  that  not  one  in  a 
hundred  has  been  chosen  by  any  spontaneous  selection 
of  the  outsiders,  the  people,  but  all  have  been  nomi- 
nated and  put  through  by  little  or  large  caucuses  of  the 
politicians,  and  have  got  m  by  corrupt  rings  and  elec- 
tioneering, not  capacity  or  desert.  I  have  noticed  how 
the  millions  of  sturdy  farmers  and  mechanics  are  thus 
the  helpless  supple-jacks  of  comparatively  few  politi- 
cians. And  I  have  noticed  more  and  more,  the  alarm- 
ing spectacle  of  parties  usurping  the  Government,  and 
openly  and  shamelessly  wielding  it  for  party  purposes. 

Sad,  serious,  deep  truths.  Yet  are  there  other,  still 
deeper,  amply  confronting,  dominating  truths.  Over 
those  politicians  and  great  and  httle  rings,  and  over  all 
their  insolence  and  wiles,  and  over  the  powerfulest  par- 
ties, looms  a  Power,  too  sluggish  may-be,  but  ever  hold- 
ing decisions  and  decrees  in  hand,  ready,  with  stern 
process,  to  execute  them  as  soon  as  plainly  needed,  and 
at  times,  indeed,  summarily  crushing  to  atoms  the 
mightiest  j):irties,  even  in  the  houj;  of  their  pride. 

In  saner  hours  far  different  are  the  amounts  of  these 
things  from  what,  at  first  sight,  they  appear.  Though 
it  is  no  doubt  important  who  is  elected  President  or 
Governor,  Mayor  or  Legislator,  (and  full  of  dismay 
when  incompetent  or  vile  ones  get  elected,  as  they 
sometimes  do,)  there  are  other,  quieter  contingencies, 
infinitely  more  important.  Shams,  &c.,  will  always  be 
the  show,  like  ocean's  scum ;  enough,  if  waters  deep 
and  clear  make  up  the  rest.  Enough,  that  while  the 
piled  embroidered  shoddy  gaud  and  fraud  spreads  to 
the  superficial  eye,  the  hidden  warp  and  weft  are  gen- 
uine, and  Avill  wear  forever.  Enough,  in  short,  that  the 
race,  the  land  which  could  raise  such  as  the  late  Eebel- 
lion,  could  also  put  it  down. 


Demockatic  Vistas.  31 

The  average  man  of  a  land  at  last  only  is  important. 
He,  in  These  States,  remains  immortal  owner  and  boss, 
deriving  good  uses,  somehow,  out  of  any  sort  of  servant 
in  ofiice,  even  the  basest ;  because,  (certain  universal 
requisites,  and  their  settled  regularity  and  protection, 
being  first  secured,)  a  Nation  like  ours,  in  a  sort  of  geo- 
logical formation  state,  trying  continually  new  experi- 
ments, choosing  -new  delegations,  is  not  served  by  the 
best  men  only,  but  sometimes  more  by  those  that  pro- 
voke it — by  the  combats  they  arouse.  Thus  national 
rage,  fury,  discussion,  &c.,  better  than  content.  Thus, 
also,  the  warning  signals,  invaluable  for  after  times. 

What  is  more  di-araatic  than  the  spectacle  we  have 
seen  repeated,  and'  doubtless  long  shall  see — the  pop- 
ular judgment  taking  the  successful  candidates  on  trial 
in  the  offices — standing  off,  as  it  were,  and  observing 
them  and  their  doings  for  a  while,  and  always  giving, 
finally,  the  fit,  exactly  due  reward  ? 

I  think,  after  all,  the  sublimest  part  of  political  his- 
tory, and  its  culmination,  is  currently  issuing  from  the 
American  people.  I  know  nothing  grander,  better  ex- 
ercise, better  digestion,  niore  positive  proof  of  the  past, 
the  triumphant  result  of  faith  in  humankind,  than  a 
well-contested  American  national  election. 

Then  still  the  thought  retui-ns,  (like  the  thread-pass- 
age in  overtures,)  giving  the  key  and  echo  to  these 
pages.  When  I  pass  to  and  fro,  dift'erent  latitudes,  dif- 
ferent seasons,  beholding  the  crowds  of  the  great  cities, 
New  York,  Boston,  Philadelphia,  Cincinnati,  Chicago, 
St.  Louis,  San  Francisco,  New  Orleans,  Baltimore — 
when  I  mix  with  these  interminable  swarms  of  alert, 
turbulent,  good-natured,  independent  citizens,  mechan- 
ics, clerks,  young  persons — at  the  idea  of  this  mass  of 
men,  so  fresh  and  free,  so  loving  and  so  proud,  a  singu- 
lar awe  falls  upon  me.  I  feel,  with  dejection  and  amaze- 
ment, that  among  our  geniuses  and  talented  writers  or 
speakers,  few  or  none  have  yet  really  spoken  to  this 
people,  or  created  a  single  image-making  work  that 
could  be  called  for  them — or  absorbed  the  central  spirit 
and  the  idiosyncrasies  which  are  theirs,  and  which,  thus, 


32  De:vioci?atic  Vistas. 

in  highest  ranges,  so  far  remain  entirely  uncelebrated, 
imexpressecl. 

Dominion  strong  is  the  body's  ;  dominion  stronger  is 
the  mind's.  What  has  filled,  and  fills  to-day  our  intel- 
lect, oui-  fancy,  furnishing  the-  standards  therein,  is  yet 
foreign.  The  great  poeius,  Shahesi^.eare  included,  are 
poisonous  to  the  idea  of  the  pride  and  dignity  of  the 
common  people,  the  life-blood  of  Democracy.  The 
models  of  oiu'  hterature,  as  we  get  it  from  other  lands, 
ultramarine,  have  had  their  bu'th  in  courts,  and  basked 
and  grown  in  castle  sunshine  ;  all  smells  of  princes' 
favors.  Of  workers  of  a  certain  sort,  we  have,  indeed, 
plenty,  contributing  after  their  kind ;  many  elegant, 
many  learned,  all  complacent.  But,  touched  by  the 
National  test,  or  tried  by  the  standards  of  Democratic 
personality,  they  wither  to  ashes.  I  sslj  I  have  not 
seen  a  single  v^riter,  artist,  lecturer,  or  what  not,  that 
has  confronted  the  voiceless  but  ever  erect  and  active, 
pervading,  underlying  will  and  typic  Aspiration  of  the 
land,  in  a  spirit  kindred  to  itself.  Do  you  call  those 
genteel  little  creatures  American  poets  ?  Do  you  term 
that  perpetual,  pistareen,  paste-pot  work,  American  art, 
American  drama,  taste,  verse  ^  I  think  I  hear,  echoed 
as  from  some  mountain-top  afar  in  the  West,  the  scorn- 
ful laugh  of  the  Genius  of  These  States. 

— Democracy,  in  silence,  biding  its  time,  ponders  its 
own  ideals,  not  of  Literature  and  Ai-t  only — not  of  men 
only,  but  of  women.  The  idea  of  the  women  of  America, 
(extricated  from  this  daze,  this  fossil  and  unhealthy  air 
which  hangs  about  the  word  Lady.)  developed,  raised 
to  become  the  robust  equals,  workers,  and,  it  may  be, 
even  practical  and  political  deciders  with  the  men — 
greater  than  man,  we  may  admit,  through  then*  divine 
maternity,  always  their  towering,  emblematical  attri- 
bute— ^but  great,  at  any  rate,  as  man,  in  all  depart- 
ments ;  or,  rather,  capable  of  being  so,  soon  as  they 
realize  it,  and  can  bring  themselves  to  give  up  toys  and 
fictions,  and  launch  forth,  as  men  do,  amid  real,  inde- 
pendent, stormy  life. 

— Then,  as  toward  oiu'  thought's  finale,  (and,  in  that, 


DEMCCnATIG'    '^"iST'AS.  33 

orerarcliing  the  true  sclaoLir's  lesson,)  wo  liave  to  sp.y 
there  can  be  no  complete  or  epical  presentation  of  De- 
mocracy iu  the  aggregate,  or  any  thing  like  it,  at  this 
day,  because  its  doctrines  will  only  be  efiecfcually  incar- 
nated in  any  one  branch,  when,  in  all,  their  spirit  is  at 
the  root  and  centre.  Far,  far,  indeed,  stretch,  in  dis- 
tance, our  vistas !  How  much  is  still  to  be  disentangled, 
freed !  How  long  it  takes  to  make  this  world  see  that 
it  is,  in  itself,  the  final  authority  and  rehance ! 

Did  you,  too,  O  fi'icnd,  suppose  Democracy  was  only 
for  elections,  for  politics,  and  for  a  party  name  ?  I  say 
Democracy  is  only  of  use  there  that  it  may  pass  on  and 
c  )me  to  its  llower  and  fruits  in  manners,  in  the  highest 
f  jrms  of  interaction  between  men,  and  tlieii-  beliefs — in 
Religion,  Literatiu'e,  colleges,  and  schools — Democracy 
in  all  pubhc  and  private  life,  and  in  the  Army  and  Navy.* 
I  have  intimated  that,  as  a  paramount  scheme,  it  has  yet 
few  or  no  full  realizers  and  believers.  I  do  not  see, 
either,  that  it  owes  any  serious  thanks  to  noted  propa- 
gandists or  champions,  or  has  been  essentially  helped, 
though  often  harmed,  b}^  them.  It  has  been  and  is  car- 
ried on  by  all  the  moral  forces,  and  by  trade,  finance, 
machinery,  intercommunications,  and,  in  fact,  by  all  the 
developments  of  history,  and  can  no  more  be  stopped 
than  the  tides,  or  the  earth  in  its  orbit.  Doubtless, 
also,  it  resides,  crude  and  latent,  well  down  in  the 
hearts  of  the  fair  average  of  the  American-born  people, 
mainly  in  the  agricultural  regions.  But  it  is  not  yet, 
there  or  anywhere,  the  fully-received,  the  fervid,  the  ab- 
solute faith. 

I  submit,  therefore,  that  the  fruition  of  Democracy, 
on  aught  Hke  a  grand  scale,  resides  altogether  in  the 
future.  As,  under  any  profound  and  comprehensive 
view  of  the  gorgeous-composite  Feudal  world,  we  see 

*  The  whole  present  system  of  the  officering  and  jnrFonnel  of 
theArmy  and  Navy  of  These  States,  and  the  spirit  and  letter  of 
their  trebly-aristocratic  rules  and  repfulations,  is  a  monstrous  ex- 
otic, a  nuisance  and  revolt,  and  belnnor  here  just  as  much  as  orders 
of  nobility,  or  tlie  Pope's  council  of  Cardinals.  I  say  if  the  pres- 
,ent  theory  of  our  Army  and  Navy  is  sensible  and  true,  then  the 
rest  of  America  is  an  unmitiijated"  fraud. 


34  DErjocFtATic  Vistas. 

in  it,  througli  the  long  ages  and  cycles  of  ages,  the  re- 
sults of  a  deep,  integral,  linman  and  divine  principle,  or 
fountain,  from  which  issued  laws,  ecclesia,  manners,  in- 
etitutes,  costumes,  pei'sonahties,  poems,  (hitherto  une- 
qualed,)  faithfully  partaking  of  their  source,  and  in- 
deed only  arising  either  to  betoken  it,  or  to  furnish 
parts  of  that  varied-flowing  display,  whose  centre  was 
one  and  absolute — so,  long  ages  hence,  shall  the  due 
hisioiian  or  critic  make  at  least  an  equal  retrospect,  an 
equal  History  for  the  Democratic  principle.  It,  loo, 
must  be  adorned,  credited  with  its  results — then,  when 
i'',  with  imperial  power,  through  amplest  time,  has  domi- 
nated mankind — has  been  the  source  and  test  of  all  the 
moral,  esthetic,  social,  political,  and  religious  expres- 
sions and  institutes  of  the  civilized  world — has  begotten 
them  in  spirit  and  in  form,  and  carried  them  to  its  own 
unprecedented  heights — has  had,  (it  is  possible,)  monas- 
tics and  ascetics,  more  numerous,  more  devout  than  the 
monks  aud  priests  of  all  previous  creeds — has  swayed 
the  ages  with  a  breadth  and  rectitude  tallying  Nature's 
own — has  fashioned,  systematized,  and  ti'iumphanfcly  fin- 
ished and  carried  out,  in  its  own  interest,  aud  with  un- 
paralleled success,  a  New  Earth  and  a  New  Man. 

— Thus  we  presume  to  write,  as  it  were,  upon  things 
that  exist  not,  and  travel  by  maps  yet  unmade,  aud  a 
blank.  But  the  throes  of  birth  are  iipon  us ;  and  we 
have  something  of  this  advantage  in  seasons  of  strong 
formations,  doubts,  suspense — ^for  then  the  afflatus  of 
such  themes  haply  may  fall  upon  us,  more  or  less  ;  and 
then,  hot  from  surrounding  war  and  revolution,  our 
speech,  though  without  polished  coherence,  and  a  fail- 
ure by  the  standard  called  criticism,  comes  forth,  real 
at  least,  as  the  lightnings. 

And  may-be  v/e,  these  days,  have,  too,  our  own  re- 
ward— (for  there  are  yet  some,  m  all  lands,  worthy  to 
be  so  encouraged.)  Though  not  for  us  the  joy  of  en- 
tering at  the  last  the  conquered  city — nor  ours  the 
chance  ever  to  see  with  our  own  eyes  the  peerless 
power  and  splendid  eclal  of  the  Democratic  principle, 
arrived  at  meridian,  filling  the  world  with  effulgence 
and  majesty  far  beyond  those  of  past  history's  kings, 


Democeatig  Vistas.  35 

or  all  dynastic  sway — tlierc  is  yet,  to  -wlioevcr  is  eligible 
among'  us,  the  proi:)iietic  vision,  tlie  joy  of  being  tossed 
in  the  brave  turmoil  of  these  times — the  promulgation 
and  the  path,  obedient,  lowly  reverent  to  the  voice,  the 
gestui'e  of  the  god,  or  holy  ghost,  which  others  see  not, 
hear  not — with  the  proud  consciousness  that  amid  what- 
ever clouds,  seductions,  or  heart-wearying  postpone- 
ments, we  have  never  deserted,  never  despaired,  never 
abandoned  the  Faith. 


So  much  contributed,  to  be  conned  w^ell,  to  help  pre- 
pare and  brace  our  edifice,  our  plann'd  Idea— we  still 
j^roceed  to  give  it  in  another  of  its  aspects — perhaps 
tJie  main,  the  high  fa(;ade  of  all.  For  to  Democracy, 
the  leveler,  the  unyielding  principle  of  the  average,  is 
surely  joined  another  principle,  equally  unyielding, 
closely  tracking  the  first,  indispensable  to  it,  opposite, 
(as  the  sexes  are  opposite,)  and  whose  existence,  con- 
fronting and  ever  modifying  the  other,  often  clashing, 
paradoxical,  yet  neither  of  highest  avail  without  the 
other,  plainly  supphes  to  these  grand  cosmic  politics  of 
ours,  and  to  the  launched  forth  mortal  dangers  of  Ke- 
publicanism,  to-day  or  any  day,  the  coitnterpart  and 
oflset,  whereby  Nature  restrains  the  deadly  original  re- 
lentlessness  of  all  her  first-class  laws.  This  second 
principle  is  Individuality,  the  pride  and  centripetal  iso- 
lation of  a  human  being  in  himself, — Identity — Person- 
alism.  Whatever  the  name,  its  acceptance  and  thorough 
infusion  through  the  organizations  of  political  common- 
alty now  shooting  Aurora-like  about  the  world,  are  of 
utmost  importance,  as  the  principle  itself  is  needed  for 
very  life's  sake.  It  forms,  in  a  sort,  or  is  to  form,  the 
compensating  balance-wheel  of  the  successful  working 
machinery  of  aggregate  America. 

— And,  if  wethink  of  it,  what  does  civilization  itself 
rest  upon — and  what  object  has  it,  with  its  religions, 
arts,  schools,  &c.,  but  rich,  luxuriant,  varied  Personal- 
ism  ?  To  that,  all  bends  ;  and  it  is  because  toward  such 
result  Democracy  alone,  on  anything  like  Nature's  scale, 
breaks  up  the  limitless  fallows  of  humankind,  and  plants 


38  Democratic  Vistas. 

tlie  seed,  r.ml  gives  fair  play,  that  its  claims  now  precede 
the  rest. 

The  Literadiro,  Songs,  Esthetics,  &c.,  of  a  country 
are  of  importance  principally  because  they  furnish  the 
materials  and  suggestions  of  Personality  for  the  women 
and  men  of  that  couutrj-,  and  enforce  them  in  a  thou- 
sand effective  ways.* 

As  the  topmost  claim  of  a  strong  consolidating  of  the 
Nationality  of  These  States,  is,  that  only  by  such  -povr- 
erful  compaction  can  the  separate  States  secure  that  full 
and  free  svdng  Vv'ithin  their  spheres,  which  is  becoming 
to  them,  each  after  its  kind,  so  v/ill  Individuality,  with 
unimpeded  branchings,  flourish  best  under  imperial  Rg- 
jDublican  forms. 

— Assuming  Democracy  to  bo  at  present  in  its  embryo 


"•'■  After  the  rest  is  satiated,  all  interest  culminates  in  the  field  of 
Persons,  and  never  fla^s  there.  Accordin<;ly  in  this  field  hav » 
the  great  poets  and  Literatnscs  signally  toiled.  They  too,  in  all 
ages,  all  lauds,  have  been .  creators,  fashioning,  making  types  of 
men  and  women,  as  Adam  and  Eve  are  made  in  the  divine  fable. 
Behold,  shaped,  bred  by  Orientalism,  Feudalism,  through  their 
long  growth  and  culmination,  and  breeding  back  iu  return, 
(When  shall  we  have  an  equal  series,  typical  of  Democracy  ?) — 
I3ehokl,  commencing  in  primal  Asia,  (apparently  formulated,  in 
what  beginning  wo  know,  in  the  gods  of  the  mythologies,  and 
coming  down  thence,)  a  few  samples  out  of  the  countless  product, 
bequeathed  to  the  moderns,  bequeathed  to  America  as  studies. 
For  the  men,  Yudishtura,  Eama,  Arjuua,  Solomon,  most  of  the 
Old  and  New  Testament  characters  ;  Achilles,  Ulysses,  Theseus, 
Prometheus,  Hercules,  iEneas,  St.  John,  Plutarcli's  heroes;  Ihc 
Merlin  of  Celtic  bards,  the  Cid,  Arthur  and  his  knights,  Siegfried 
and  Hagen  in  the  Niebelungen;  Roland  and  Oliver  ;  Roiistam  in 
the  Shah-Nehmah ;  and  so  on  to  Milton's  Satan,  Cervantes'  Don 
Quixote,  Shakespeare's  Hamlet,  Richard  II.,  Lear,  Marc  Antony, 
&c.,  nnd  the  modern  Faust.  These,  I  say,  are  models,  combined, 
adjusted  to  other  standards  than  America's,  but  of  priceless  value 
to  her  and  hers. 

Among  women,  the  goddesses  of  the  Egyptian,  Indian  and 
Greek  mythologies,  certain  Bible  characters,  especially  the  Holy 
Mother ;  Cleopatra,  Penelope ;  the  portraits  of  Brunhelde  and 
Chriemhilde  in  the  Niebelungen  ;  Oriana,  Una,  frc.  ;  the  modern 
Consuelo,  Walter  Scott's  Jeanie  and  Effie  Deans,  &o..  &c.  (Woman, 
portrayed  or  outlined  at  her  best,  or  as  perfect  human  Mother, 
does  not  yet,  it  seems  to  me,  fully  appear  in  Literature.) 


Dkmogratio  Vistas.  37 

condition,  and  that  the  only  largo  and  satisfactory  justi- 
fication of  it  resides  in  the  future,  mainly  through  the 
copious  production  of  perfect  characters  among  the 
people,  and  through  the  advent  of  a  sane  and  pervading 
Religiousness,  it  is  with  regard  to  the  atmosphere  and 
spaciousness  tit  for  such  characters,  and  of  certain  nutri- 
ment and  cartoon-draftings  proper  for  them,  and  indi- 
cating them,  for  -New  ^Yorld  purposes,  that  I  continue 
the  present  statement — an  exploration,  as  of  new 
ground,  wherein,  li]i;e  other  primitive  surveyors,  I  must 
do  the  best  I  can,  leaving  it  to  those  who  come  after 
me  to  do  much  better.  The  service,  in  fact,  if. any,  must 
be  to  merely  break  a  sort  of  first  j)ath  or  track,  no 
matter  hov/  rude  and  ungeometrical. 

We  have  fi'equently  printed  the  word  Democracy. 
Yet  I  cannot  too  often  rejoeat  that  it  is  a  word  the  real 
gist  of  which  still  sleeps,  quite  unawakened,  notwith- 
standing the  resonance  and  the  many  angry  tempests, 
out  of  which  its  syllables  have  come,  from  pen  or  tongue. 
It  is  a  great  word,  whose  history,  I  suppose,  remains 
unwritten,  because  that  history  has  yet  to  be  enacted. 
It  is,  in  some  sort,  younger  brother  of  another  great 
and  often-used  vrord,  Nature,  whose  history  also  waits 
unwritten. 

As  I  perceiv e,  the  tendencies  of  oiu*  day,  in  The  States, 
(and  I  entirely  respect  them,)  are  toward  those  vast  and 
sweeping  movements,  influences,  moral  and  physical,  of 
humanity,  now  and  always  current  over  the  planet,  on 
the  scale  of  the  impulses  of  the  elements.  Then  it  v.i 
also  good  to  reduce  the  whole  matter  to  the  considera- 
tion of  a  single  self,  a  man,  a  woman,  on  permanent 
grounds.  Even  for  the  treatment  of  the  universal,  in 
politics,  metaphysics,  or  anythmg,  sooner  or  later  we 
come  down  to  one  single,  solitary  Soul. 

There  is,  in  sanest  hours,  a  consciousness,  a  thought 
that  rises,  independent,  lifted  out  from  all  else,  calm, 
like  the  stars,  shining  eternal.  This  is  the  thought  of 
Identity — ,yours  for  you,  whoever  you  are,  as  mine  for 
me.  Miracle  of  miracles,  beyond  statement,  most  spir- 
itual and  vaguest  of  earth's  dreams,  yet  hardest  basic 
fact,  and  only  entrance  to  all  facts.     In  such  devout 


38  Democratic  Vistas. 

liotirs,  in  the  midst  of  tlie  significant  wonders  of  lieaven 
and  earth,  (significant  only  because  of  tlie  Me  in  the 
centre,)  creeds,  conventions,  fall  away  and  become  of  no 
account  before  this  simple  idea.  Under  the  luminous- 
ness  of  real  vision,  it  alone  takes  possession,  takes  value. 
Like  the  shadowy  clv^arf  in  the  fable,  once  liberated  and 
looked  upon,  it  expands  over  the  whole  earth,  and 
sj^reads  to  the  roof  of  heaven. 

The  quality  of  Being,  in  the  object's  self,  according 
to  its  own  central  idea  and  pux-pose,  and  of  growing 
therefrom  and  thereto — not  crilicism  by  other  stand- 
ards, and  adjustments  thereto — is  the  lo.-son  of  Nature. 
True,  the  full  man  vv'isely  gathers,  culls,  absorbs ;  but 
if,  engaged  disproportionately  in  that,  he  slights  or 
overlap's  the  precious  idiocrasy  and  special  nativity  and 
intention  that  he  is,  tiie  man's  self,  the  main  thing,  is  a 
failure,  however  wide  his  general  cultivation.  Thus,  in 
our  times,  refinement  and  delicatesso  are  not  only  at- 
tended to  sufiiciently,  but  threaten  to  eat  us  up,  like  a 
cancer.  Akeady,  the  Democratic  genius  watches,  ill- 
pleased,  these  tendencies.  Provision  for  a  little  healthy 
rudeness,  savage  virtue,  justification  of  what  one  has  in 
one's  self,  whatever  it  is,  is  demanded.  Negative  quali- 
ties, even  deficiencies,  would  be  a  relief.  Singleness 
and  normal  simplicity,  and  separation,  amid  this  more 
and  more  complex,  more  and  more  artificializcd,  state 
of  society — how  pensively  we  yearn  for  thcui!  how  we 
would  welcome  their  return  ! 

In  some  such  direction,  then — at  any  rate  enough  to 
preserve  the  balance — we  feel  called  upon  to  throw 
what  weight  we  can,  not  for  absolute  reasons,  but  cur- 
rent ones.  To  prune,  gather,  trim,  conform,  and  ever 
cram  and  stuff,  is  the  jiressure  of  our  days.  While 
aware  that  mucli  can  be  said  even  in  behalf  of  all  this, 
we  perceive  that  we  have  not  now  to  consider  the  ques- 
tion of  what  is  demanded  to  serve  a  half-starved  and 
barbarous  nation,  or  set  of  nations,  but  what  is  most 
applicable,  most  pertinent,  for  numerous  congeries  of 
conventional,  over-corpulent  societies  already  becoming 
stifled  and  rotten  with  flatulent,  iufidelistic  hterature, 
and  polite  conformity  and  art. 


Demochatic  Vistas.  39 

lu  addition  to  established  sciences,  we  suq-gest  a 
science  as  it  were  of  healthy  average  Persoiialism,  on 
original-universal  grounds,  the  object  of  which  should 
be  to  raise  up  and  supply  through  The  States  a  copious 
race  of  superb  American  men  end  women,  cheerful,  re- 
ligious, ahead  of  any  yet  known. 

America,  leaving  out  her  joolitics,  has  yet  morally 
originated  nothing.  She  seems  singularly  unaware  that 
the  models  of  persons,  books,  manners,  &c.,  appropriate 
for  former  conditions  and  for  European  lands,  are  but 
exiles  and  exotics  here.  No  current  of  her  hfe,  as  shown 
on  the  surfaces  of  what  is'authoritatively  called  her  So- 
ciety, accepts  or  runs  into  moral,  social,  or  esthetic  De- 
mocracy ;  but  all  the  currents  set  squarely  against  it. 
Never,  in  the  Old  World,  was  thoroughly  upholstered 
Exterior  Appearance  and  show,  mental  and  other,  buiJt 
entirely  on  the  idea  of  caste,  and  on  the  sufficiency  of 
mere  outside  Acquisition — never  were  Glibness,  verbrd 
Intellect,  more  the  test,  the  emulation — more  loftily 
elevated  as  head  and  sample — than  they  are  on  the' 
surface  of  our  Republican  States  this  day.  The  writers 
of  a  time  hint  the  mottoes  of  its  gods.  The  word  of 
the  modern,  8%j  these  voices,  is  the  word  Culture. 

"VVe  find  ourselves  abruptly  in  close  quarters  with  the 
enemy.  This  word  Culture,  or  what  it  has  come  to  rep- 
resent, involves,  by  contrast,  our  whole  theme,  and  has 
been,  indeed,  the  spur,  urging  us  to  engagement.  Cer- 
tain questions  arise. 

As  now  taught,  accepted  and  carried  out,  are  not  the 
processes  of  Culture  rapidly  creating  a  class  of  super- 
cilious infidels,  who  believe  in  nothing?  Shall  a  man 
lose  himself  in  countless  masses  of  adjustments,  and  be 
so  shaped  with  reference  to  this,  that,  and  the  other, 
that  the  simply  good  and  healthy  and  brave  parts  of 
him  are  reduced  and  clipped  away,  hke  the  bordering 
of  box  in  a  garden  ?  You  can  cultivate  corn  and  I'oses 
and  orchards — ^but  who  shall  cultivate  the  primEeval 
forests,  the  mountain  peaks,  the  ocean,  and  the  tum- 
bhng  gorgeousness  of  the  clouds?  Lastly— Is  the 
reaclily-givcn  reply  that  Cultui'e  only  seeks  to   help, 


40  DEMOCRATIC  Vistas. 

systematize,  and  put  in  attitude,  the  elements  of  fer- 
tility and  power,  a  conclusive  reply  ? 

I  do  not  so  much  object  to  the  name,  or  word,  but  I 
should  certainly  insist,  for  the  piu'poses  of  These  States, 
on  a  radical  change  of  category,  in  the  distribution  of 
precedence.  I  should  demand  a  programme  of  Cul- 
ture, di'awn  out,  not  for  a  single  class  alone,  or  for  the 
parlors  or  lecture-rooms,  but  with  an  eye  to  practical 
life,  the  West,  the  w^orting-men,  the  facts  of  farms  and 
jackplanes  and  engineers,  and  of  the  broad  range  of  the 
women  also  of  the  middle  and  w^orking  strata,  and  with 
reference  to  the  perfect  equality  of  women,  and  of  a 
grand  and  powerful  motherhood.  I  should  demand  of 
this  programme  or  theory  a  scope  generous  enough  to 
include  the  widest  human  area.  It  must  have  for  its 
spinal  meaning  the  formation  of  a  typical  Personality 
of  character,  eligible  to  the  uses  of  the  high  average  of 
men — and  not  restricted  by  conditions  ineligible  to  the 
masses. 

The  best  cultui'e  will  always  be  that  of  the  manly  and 
eoui'ageous  instincts,  and  Roving  perceptions,  and  of 
self-respect — aiming  to  form,  over  this  continent,  an 
Idiocrasy  of  Universalism,  which,  true  child  of  America, 
will  bring  joy  to  its  mother,  returning  to  her  in  her  own 
spirit,  recruiting  myriads  of  men,  able,  natui'al,  per- 
cej)tive,  tolerant,  devout,  real  men,  alive  and  full,  be- 
lievers in  her,  America,  and  with  some  definite  instinct 
Avhy  and  for  what  she  has  arisen,  most  vast,  most  formi- 
dable of  historic  births,  and  is,  now  and  here,  with  won- 
derful step,  journeying  through  Time. 

The  problem,  as  it  seems  to  me,  presented  to  the 
New  World,  is,  under  permanent  law  and  order,  and 
after  preserving  cohesion,  (ensemble- Individualit3%)  at 
all  hazards,  to  vitalize  man's  free  play  of  special  Per- 
sonalism,  recognizing  in  it  something  that  calls  ever 
more  to  be  considered,  fed,  and  adopted  as  the  substra- 
tum for  the  best  that  belongs  to  us,  (government  indeed 
is  for  it,)  including  the  new  esthetics  of  oiu*  future. 

To  formulate  beyond  this  present  vagueness — to  help 
line  and  put  before  us,  the  species,  or  a  specimen  of  the 


Democratic  Vistas.  41 

species,  of  the  Democratic  ethnology  of  the  future,  is  a 
work  toward  which  the  Genius  of  our  land,  with  pecu- 
liar encouragement,  invites  her  well-wishers.  Ah'eady, 
certain  hmnings,  more  or  less  grotesque,  more  or  less 
fading  and  watery,  have  appeared.  We  too,  (repressing 
doubts  and  qualms,)  will  try  our  hand. 

Attempting  then,  however  crudely,  a  basic  model  or 
portrait  of  Persbnahty,  for  general  use  for  the  manli- 
ness of  The  States,  (and  doubtless  that  is  most  useful 
which  is  most  simple,  comprehensive  for  all,  and  toned 
low  enough,)  we  should  prepare  the  canvas  well  before- 
hand. Parentage  must  consider  itself  in  advance. 
(Will  the  time  hasten  when  fatherhood  and  mother- 
hood shall  become  a  science — and  the  noblest  science  ?) 
To  our  model  a  clear-blooded,  strong-fibred  physique, 
is  indispensable  ;  the  questions  of  food,  drink,  air,  exer- 
cise, assimilation,  digestion,  can  never  be  intermitted. 
Out  of  these  we  descry  a  well-begotten  Selfhood — in 
youth,  fresh,  ardent,  emotional,  aspiring,  full  of  adven- 
ture ;  at  maturity,  brave,  perceptive,  under  control, 
neither  too  talkative  nor  too  reticent,  neither  flippant 
nor  sombre  ;  of  the  bodily  figure,  the  movements  easy, 
the  complexion  showing  the  best  blood,  somewhat 
flushed,  breast  expanded,  an  erect  attitude,  a  voice 
whose  so'and  outvies  music,  eyes  of  calm  and  steady 
gaze,  yet  capable  also  of  flashing — and  a  general  pres- 
ence that  holds  its  own  in  the  company  of  the  highest. 
For  it  is  native  Personality,  and  that  alone,  that  endows 
a  man  to  stand  before  Presidents  or  Generals,  or  in  any 
distinguished  collection,  with  aplomb  ;  and  not  Culture, 
or  any  knowledge  or  intellect  whatever. 

With  regard  to  the  mental-educational  part  of  our 
model,  enlai'gement  of  intellect,  stores  of  cephalic 
knowledge,  &c.,  the  concentration  thitherward  of  all 
the  customs  of  our  age,  especially  in  America,  is  so 
overweening,  and  provides  so  fully  for  that  part,  that, 
important  and  necessarj^  as  it  is,  it  really  needs  nothing 
from  us  here — except,  indeed,  a  phrase  of  warning  and 
restraint. 

Manners,  costumes,  too,  though  important,  we  need 
not  dwell  upon  here.     Like  beauty,  grace  of  motion, 


42  Democratic  Vistal-. 

&c.,  they  are  results.  Causes,  original  things,  being 
attended  to,  tlie  right  manners  unerringly  follow. 
Much  is  said,  among  artists,  of  the  grand  style,  as  if  it 
were  a  thing  by  itself.  When  a  man,  artist  or  whoever, 
has  health,  pride,  acuteuess,  noble  aspirations,  he  has 
the  motive-elements  of  the  grandest  style.  The  rest  is 
but  manipulation,  (yet  that  is  no  small  matter.) 

— Leaving  still  unspecified,  several  sterling  parts  of 
any  model  tit  tor  the  future  Personality  of  America,  I 
must  not  fail,  again  and  ever,  to  pronounce  rpyself  on 
one,  probably  the  least  attended  to  in  modern  times — a 
hiatus,  indeed,  threatening  its  gloomiest  consequences 
after  us.  I  mean  the  simple,  unsophisticated  Conscience, 
the  primary  moral  element.  If  I  were  asked  to  specify 
in  what  quarter  lie  the  grounds  of  darkest  dread,  re- 
specting the  America  of  our  hopes,  I  should,  have  to 
point  to  this  particailar.  I  should  demand  the  invaria- 
ble application  to  Individuality,  this  day,  and  any  day, 
of  that  old,  ever-true  jDlumb-rule  of  persons,  eras,  na- 
tions. Our  triumphant  modern  Civihzee,  vrith  his  all- 
schooling  and  his  wondrous  appliances,  will  still  show 
himself  but  an  amjoutation  while  this  deficiency  remains. 

Beyond,  (assuming  a  more  hopeful  tone,)  the  verte- 
bration  of  the  manly  and  womanly  Personalism  of  our 
Western  World,  can  only  be,  and  is,  indeed,  to  be,  (I 
hope,)  its  all  penetrating  Religiousness.  The  architec- 
ture of  Individuahty  will  ever  prove  various,  with  count- 
less different  combinations  ;  but  here  they  rise  as  into 
common  pinnacles,  some  higher,  some  less  high,  only 
all  pointing  upward. 

ludee;!,  the  ripeness  of  Religion  is  doubtless  to  bo 
looked  for  in  this  field  of  Individuahty,  and  is  a  result 
that  no  organization  or  church  can  ever  achieve.  As 
history  is  poorty  retained  by  what  the  technists  call  his- 
tory, and  is  not  given  out  from  their  pages,  except  the 
learner  has  in  himself  the  sense  of  the  well-wrapt,  never 
yet  written,  perhaps  impossible  to  be  written,  history — 
S3  Religion,  although  casually  arrested,  and,  after  a 
fashion,  preserved  in  the  churches  and  creeds,  does  not 
depend  at  all  uidou  them,  but  is  a  part  of  the  identified 


Democratic  Vistas.  43 

Soul,  Tv'liicbj  wlien  greatest,  knows  not  Bibles  in  the  old 
way,  but  in  new  ways — the  identified  Soul,  wliicli  can 
really  confront  Religion  when  it  extricates  itself  entirely 
fi-om  the  churches,  and  not  before. 

PersonaUsni  fuses  this,  and  favors  it.  I  should  say, 
indeed,  that  only  in  the  perfect  uneontaniination  and 
solitariness  of  Individuality  may  the  spirituality  of  Re- 
ligion positively  come  forth  at  all.  Only  here,  and  on 
such  terms,  the  meditation,  the  devout  ecstasy,  the 
soaring  liight.  Only  here,  communion  with  the  mys- 
teries, the  eternal  problems,  Whence  ?  whither  ?  Alone, 
and  identity,  and  the  mood — and  the  Soul  emerges,  and 
all  statements,  churches,  sermons,  melt  away  like  va- 
j)ors.  Alone,  and  silent  thought,  and  awe,  and  aspira- 
tion— and  then  the  interior  consciousness,  like  a  hith- 
erto unseen  inscription,  in  magic  ink,  beams  out  its 
wondrous  lines  to  the  sense.  Bibles  may  convey,  and 
priests  expound,  but  it  is  exclusively  for  the  noiseless 
operation  of  one's  isolated  Self,  to  enter  the  pure  ether 
of  veneration,  reach  the  divine  levels,  and  commune 
with  the  unutterable. 

To  practically  enter  into  PoHtics  is  an  important  part 
of  American  personalism.  To  every  young  man,  North 
and  South,  earnestly  studying  these  things,  I  should 
here,  as  an  offset  to  what  I  have  said  in  former  pages, 
now  also  say,  that  may-be  to  views  of  very  largest 
scope,  after  all,  perhaps  the  political,  (and  perhaps  lit- 
erary and  sociological,)  America  goes  best  about  its 
development  its  own  way — sometnnes,  to  tempontry 
sight,  appalhng  enough.  It  is  the  fashion  among  clil- 
lettants  and  fops  to  decry  the  whole  formulation  and 
personnel  of  the  active  politics  of  America,  as  beyond 
redemption,  and  to  be  carefully  kept  away  from.  See 
you  that  you  do  not  fall  into  this  error.  America,  it 
may  be,  is  doing  very  well,  upon  the  whole,  notwith- 
standing these  antics  of  the  j)arties  and  their  leaders, 
these  half-brained  nominees,  and  the  many  ignorant 
ballots,  and  many  elected  failures  and  blatherers.  It  is 
the  dillettants,  and  all  who  shirk  their  duty,  who  are 
not  doing  well.    As  for  you,  I  advise  you  to  enter  more 


44  Democratic  Vistas. 

strongly  yet  into  i:)olitics.  I  ndvise  every  young'  man  to 
do  so.  Always  inform  yourself ;  always  do  the  best  you 
can  ;  always  vote.  Disengage  yourself  from  parties. 
They  have  been  useful,  and  to  some  extent  remain  so  ; 
bnt  the  floating,  uncommitted  electors,  farmers,  clerks, 
mechanics,  the  masters  of  parties — watching  aloof,  in- 
clining victory  this,  side  or  that  side — such  are  the  ones 
most  needed,  present  and  futiu'e.  For  America,  if  eligi- 
ble at  all  to  dovv^nfall  and  ruin,  is  eligible  within  herself, 
not  without ;  for  I  see  clearly  that  the  combined  foreign 
world  could  not  beat  her  down.  But  these  savage, 
wolfish  parties  alarm  me.  Owning  no  law  but  their 
own  wdl,  more  and  more  combative,  less  and  less  toler- 
ant of  the  idea  of  ensemble  and  of  equal  brotherhood, 
the  perfect  equality  of  the  States,  the  ever-overarching 
American  ideas,  it  behooves  you  to  convey  yourself  im- 
phcitly  to  no  i^arty,  nor  submit  blindly  to  theii"  dic- 
tators, but  steadily  hold  yourself  judge  and  master 
over  r.U  of  them. 

— So  much,  (hastily  tossed  together,  and  leaving  far 
more  unsaid,)  for  an  ideal,  or  intimations  of  an  ideal, 
toward  American  manhood.  But  the  other  sex,  in  our 
land,  requires  at  least  a  basis  of  suggestion. 

I  have  seen  a  young  American  woman,  one  of  a  large 
family  of  daughters,  who,  some  years  since,  migrated 
from  her  meagre  country  home  to  one  of  the  northern 
cities,  to  gain  her  own  support.  She  soon  became  an 
expert  seamstress,  but  finding  the  employment  too  con- 
fining for  her  health  and  comfort,  she  went  boldly  to 
work,  for  others,  to  house-keep,  cook,  clean,  &c.  After 
trying  several  places,  she  fell  upon  one  where  she  was 
suited.  She  has  told  me  that  she  finds  nothing  de- 
grading in  her  position  ;  it  is  not  inconsistent  with 
personal  dignity,  self-respect,  and  the  respect  of  others. 
She  confers  benefits  and  receives  them.  She  has  good 
health  ;  her  presence  itself  is  bealthy  and  bracing  ;  her 
character  is  unstained  ;  she  has  made  herself  under- 
stood, and  preserves  her  independence,  and  has  been 
able  to  help  her  parents  and  educate  and  get  places  for 
her  sisters  ;  and  her  course  of  life  is  not  without  oppor- 


Democratic  Vistas.  45 

tunities  for  mental  improvement,  and  of  much  quiet, 
uncosting-  happiness  and  love. 

I  have  seen  another  woman  who,  from  taste  and  ne- 
cessity conjoined,  has  gone  into  practical  afiairs,  carries 
on  a  mechanical  business,  partly  works  at  it  herself, 
dashes  out  more  and  more  into  real  hardy  life,  is  not 
abashed  by  the  coarseness  of  the  contact,  hnows  how 
to  be  firm  and.  silent  at  the  same  time,  holds  her  own 
with  unvar^ung  coolness  and  decorum,  and  will  com- 
pare, any  day,  with  superior  carpenters,  farmers,  and 
even  boatmen  and  drivers.  For  all  that,  she  has  not 
lost  the  charm  of  the  womanly  nature,  but  preserves 
and  bears  it  fully,  though  through  such  rugged  pre- 
sentation. 

Then  there  is  the  wife  of  a  mechanic,  mother  of  two 
children,  a  woman  of  merely  passable  English  educa- 
tion, but  of  fine  wit,  with  all  her  ses's  grace  and  intui- 
tions, who  exhibits,  indeed,  such  a  noble  female  Person- 
ality, that  I  am  fain  to  record  it  here.  Never  abnegating 
her  own  proper  independence,  but  always  genially  pre- 
serving it,  and  what  belongs  to  it— cooking,  washing, 
child-niu'sing,  house-tending,  she  beams  sunshine  out 
of  all  these  duties,  and  makes  them  illustrious.  Physi- 
ologicalty  sweet  and  sound,  loving  work,  practical,  she 
yet  knows  that  there  are  intervals,  hov/ever  fevv^,  devoted 
to  recreation,  music,  leisure,  hosi^itality — and  affords 
such  intervals.  Whatever  she  does,  and  wherever  she 
is,  that  charm,  that  indescribable  perfume  of  genuine 
womanhood,  attends  her,  goes  with  her,  exhales  from 
her,  which  belongs  of  right  to  all  the  sex,  and  is,  or 
ought  to  be,  the  invariable  atmosphei'e  and  common 
aureola  of  old  as  well  as  young. 

My  mother  has  described  to  me  a  resplendent  person, 
down  on  Long  Island,  whom  she  knew  years  ago,  in 
early  days.  She  was  known  by  the  name  of  the  Peace- 
maker. She  was  well  toward  eighty  years  old,  of  happy 
and  sunny  temj^erament,  had  always  lived  on  a  farm, 
was  very  neighborly,  sensible  and  discreet,  an  invari- 
able and  welcomed  favorite,  especially  with  young  mar- 
ried women.  She  had  numerous  children  and  grand- 
children.    She  was  uneducated,  but  possessed  a  native 


46  Democratic  Vistas. 

dignity.  She  had  come  to  be  a  tacitly  agreed  upon 
domestic  reguh^tor,  judge,  settler  of  difficulties,  shep- 
herdess, and  reconciler  in  the  land.  She  was  a  sight  to 
draw  near  and  look  upon,  with  her  large  figure,  her 
profuse  snow-white  hair,  dark  eyes,  clear  coin^^lexioiip 
sweet  breath,  and  peculiar  j)ersonal  magiietism. 

The  foregoing  portraits,  I  admit,  are  frightfully  out 
of  Hne  from  these  imported  models  of  womanly  Per- 
sonality— the  stock  feminine  characters  of  the  cun-ent 
novelists,  or  of  the  foreign  coui't  poems,  (Ophelias, 
Enids,  Princesses,  or  Ladies  of  one  thing  or  another,) 
v/hicli  fill  the  envying  di-eams  of  so  many  poor  gii'ls, 
and  are  accepted  by  our  young  men,  too,  as  supreme 
ideals  of  feminine  excellence  to  be  sought  after.  But  I 
present  mine  just  for  a  change. 

Then  there  are  mutterings,  (wo  will  not  now  stop  to 
heed  them  here,  but  they  must  be  heeded,)  of  some- 
thing more  revolutionary.  The  day  is  coming  when  the 
deep  questions  of  woman's  entrance  amid  the  arenas  of 
practical  life,  politics,  trades,  &c.,  will  not  only  be  ar- 
gued all  around  us,  but  may  be  put  to  decision,  and 
real  experiment. 

— Of  course,  in  These  States,  for  both  man  and 
woman,  we  must  entirely  recast  the  types  of  highest 
Personality  from  what  the  Oriental,  Feudal,  Ecclesias- 
tical worlds  bequeath  us,  and  which  yet  fully  possess 
the  imaginative  and  esthetic  fields  of  the  United  States, 
pictorial  and  melodramatic,  not  without  use  as  studies, 
but  making  sad  work,  and  forming  a  strange  anachron- 
ism upon  the  scenes  and  exigencies  around  us. 

Of  course,  the  old,  undying  elements  remain.  The 
task  is,  to  successfully  adjust  them  to  new  combina- 
tions, our  own  days.  Nor  is  this  so  incredible.  I  can 
conceive  a  community,  to-day  and  here,  in  which,  on  a 
sufficient  scale,  the  perfect  I'ersonalities,  without  noise, 
meet ;  say  in  some  pleasant  Western  settlement  or  town, 
where  a  couple  of  hundred  best  men  and  women,  of 
ordinary  worldly  status,  have  by  luck  been  drawn  to- 
gether, with  nothing  extra  of  genius  or  wealth,  but  vir- 
tuous, chaste,  industrious,  cheerful,  resolute,  friendly, 


Democeatio  Vistas.  47 

and  devout,  I  can  conceive  sucli  a  community  organ- 
ized in  running'  order,  powers  judiciously  delegated, 
farming,  building,  trade,  courts,  mails,  schools,  elec- 
tions, all  attended  to ;  and  then  the  rest  of  life,  the 
main  thing,  freely  branching  and  blossoming  in  each 
individual,  and  bearing  golden  fi*uit.  I  can  see  there, 
in  every  young  and  old  man,  after  his  kind,  and  in  every 
woman  after  hers,  a  true  Personality,  developed,  exer- 
cised proportionately  in  body,  mind,  and  spirit.  I  can 
imagine  this  case  as  one  not  necessarily  rare  or  difficult, 
but  in  buoyant  accordance  with  the  municipal  and  gen- 
eral requirements  of  our  times.  And  I  can  realize  in 
it  the  culmination  of  something  better  than  any  stereo- 
t^q^ed  eclat  of  history  or  poems.  Perhaps,  unsung,  un- 
dramatized,  unput  in  e&says  or  biographies — perhaps 
even  some  such  community  "already  exists,  in  Ohio,  Illi- 
nois, Missouri,  or  somewhere,  practically  fulfilling  itself, 
and  thus  outvying,  in  cheapest  vulgar  life,  aU  that  has 
been  hitherto  shown  in  best  ideal  pictures. 

In  short,  and  to  sum  up,  America,  betaking  herself 
to  formative  action,  (as  it  is  about  time  for  more  solid 
achievement  and  less  windy  promise,)  must,  for  her 
purposes,  cease  to  recognize  a  theory  of  character 
grown  of  Feudal  aristocracies,  or  formed  by  merely 
esthetic  or  literary  standards,  or  from  any  ultramarine, 
full-dress  formulas  of  culture,  polish,  caste,  &c.,  and 
must  sternly  promulgate  her  own  new  standard,  yet 
old  enough,  and  accepting  the  old,  the  perennial,  ele- 
ments, and  combining  them  into  groups,  unities,  appro- 
priate to  the  modern,  the  democratic,  the  West,  and  to 
the  practical  occasions  and  needs  of  our  own  cities,  and 
of  the  agricultural  regions.  Ever  the  most  precious  in 
the  common.  Ever  the  fresh  breeze  of  field,  or  hill,  or 
lake,  is  more  than  any  palpitation  of  fans,  though  of 
ivory,  and  redolent  with  perfume  ;  and  the  air  is  more 
than  the  costliest  perfumes. 

And  now,  for  fear  of  mistake,  we  may  not  intermit  to 
beg  oui'  absolution  from  all  that  genuinely  is,  or  goes 
along  with,  even  Culture.  Pardon  us,  venerable  shade ! 
if  we  have  seemed  to  spealf.  hghtly  of  your  office.  The 
whole  civilization  of  the  earth,  we  know,  is  yours,  with 


48  Dkmoceatic  Vistas. 

all  the  glory  and  the  light  thereof.  It  i?,  indeed,  in 
your  own  spirit,  and  see^cing  to  tally  the  loftiest  teach- 
ings of  it,  that  we  aim  these  poor  ntterances.  For  you, 
too,  mighty  minister!  know  that  there  is  something 
greater  than  you,  namely,  the  fresh,  eternal  qualities  of 
Being.  From  them,  and  by  them,  as  you,  at  your  best, 
we,  too,  after  our  fashion,  when  art  and  conventions 
fail,  evoke  the  last,  the  needed  help,  to  vitalize  our 
country  and  our  days. 

Thus  we  pronounce  not  so  much  against  the  principle 
of  Cultui'e  ;  we  only  supervise  it,  and  promulge  along 
with  it,  as  deep,  perhaps  a  deeiDei',  principle.  As  we 
have  shown,  the  New  "World,  including  in  itself  the  all- 
leveling  aggregate  of  Democracy,  we  show  it  also  in- 
cluding the  all-varied,  all-permitting,  all-free  theorem 
of  Individuality,  and  erecting  therefor  a  lofty  and  hith- 
erto unoccupied  framework  or  platform,  broad  enough 
for  all,  eligible  to  every  farmer  and  mechanic — to  the 
female  equally  with  the  male — a  towering  Selfhood,  not 
physically  perfect  only — not  satisfied  w'ith  the  mere 
mind's  and  learning's  stores,  but  Religious,  possessing 
the  idea  of  the  Infinite,  (rudder  and  compass  siu'e  amid 
this  troublous  voyage,  o'er  darkest,  wildest  wave, 
through  stormiest  wind,  of  man'a  or  nation's  jorogress,) 
— reahzing,  above  the  rest,  that  known  humanity,  in 
deepest  sense,  is  fair  adhesion  to  Itself,  for  piu'poscs 
beyond — and  that,  finally,  the  Personality  of  mortal  life 
is  most  important  with  reference  to  the  immortal,  the 
Unknown,  the  Spiritual,  the  only  permanently  real, 
which,  as  the  ocean  waits  for  and  receives  the  rivers, 
waits  for  us  each  and  aU. 

Much  is  there,  yet,  demanding  line  and  outline  in  our 
Yistas,  not  only  on  these  topics,  but  others  quite  un- 
written. Indeed,  we  could  talk  the  matter,  and  expand 
it,  through  lifetime.  But  it  is  necessary  to  return  to 
our  original  premises.  In  view  of  them,  wo  have  again 
pointedly  to  confess  that  all  the  objective  grandeurs  of 
the  World,  for  highest  purposes,  yield  themselves  up, 
and  depend  on  mentality  alone.  Here,  and  here  only, 
all  balances,  all  rests.    For  the  mind,  which  alone  builds 


Democratic  Vistas.  49 

the  permanent  edifice,  haughtily  builds  it  to  itself.  By 
it,  with  what  follows  it,  are  conveyed  to  mortal  sense 
the  culminations  of  the  materialistic,  the  known,  and  a 
prophecy  of  the  unknown.  To  take  expression,  to  in- 
carnate, to  endow  a  Literature  with  grand  and  arche- 
typal models — to  fill  with  pride  and  love  the  utmost 
capacity,  and  to  achieve  spiritual  meanings,  and  sug- 
gest the  future — ^these,  and  these  only,  satisfy  the  soul. 
We  must  not  say  one  word  against  real  materials  ;  hut 
the  wise  know  that  they  do  not  become  real  till  touched 
by  emotions,  the  mind.  Did  we  call  the  latter  impon- 
derable ?  Ah,  let  us  rather  proclaim  that  the  slightest 
song- tune,  the  countless  ephemera  of  passions  aroused  by 
orators  and  tale-tellers,  are  more  dense,  more  weighty 
than  the  engines  there  in  the  great  factories,  or  the 
granite  blocks  in  their  foundations. 

— Approaching  thus  the  momentous  spaces,  and  con- 
sidering with  reference  to  a  new  and  greater  Personal- 
ism,  the  needs  and  possibilities  of  American  imaginative 
hterature,  through  the  medium-light, of  what  we  have 
already  broached,  it  will  at  once  be  appreciated  that  a 
vast  gulf  of  difference  separates  the  present  accepted 
condition  of  these  spaces,  inclusive  of  what  is  floating 
in  them,  from  any  condition  adjusted  to,  or  fit  for,  the 
world,  the  America,  there  sought  to  be  indicated,  and 
the  copious  races  of  complete  men  and  women,  dovm 
along  these  Yistas  crudely  outlined. 

It  is,  in  some  sort,  no  less  a  difference  than  lies  be- 
tween that  long-continued  nebular  state  and  vagueness 
of  the  astronomical  worlds,  compared  with  the  subse- 
quent state,  the  definitely-formed  worlds  themselves, 
duly  compacted,  clustering  in  systems,  hung  up  there, 
chandeliers  of  the  universe,  beholding  and  mutually  lie 
by  each  other's  lights,  serving  for  ground  of  all  sub- 
stantial foothold,  all  vulgar  uses — yet  serving  still  more 
as  an  undying  chain  and  echelon  of  spiritual  proofs  and 
shows.  A  boundless  field  to  fill !  A  new  Creation,  with 
needed  orbie  works  launched  forth,  to  revolve  in  free 
and  lawful  circuits — to  move,  self-poised,  through  the 
ether,  and  shine,  like  heaven's  own  suns!  With  such, 
and  nothing  less,  we  suggest  that  New  World  Litera- 
3 


50  Democratic  Vistas. 

ture,  fit  to  rise  upon,  cohere,  and  signalize,  in  time. 
These  States. 

What,  however,  do  we  more  definitely  mean  by  New 
World  Literature  ?  Ai-e  we  not  doing  well  enough  here 
already?  Are  not  the  United  States  this  day  busily 
using,  working,  more  printer's  tyj^e,  more  jDresses,  than 
any  other  country  ?  uttering  and  absorbing  more  publi- 
cations than  any  other  ?  Do  not  oui'  publishers  fatten 
quicker  and  deeper  ?  (helping  themselves,  under  shelter 
of  a  delusive  and  sneaking  law,  or  rather  absence  of 
law,  to  most  of  their  forage,  poetical,  pictorial,  histoi'i- 
cal,  romantic,  even  comic,  without  money  and  without 
price — and  fiercely  resisting  even  the  timidest  proposal 
to  pay  for  it.) 

Many  will  come  under  this  delusion — but  my  purpose 
is  to  dispel  it.  I  say  that  a  nation  may  hold  and  circu- 
late i-ivers  and  oceans  of  very  readable  print,  journals, 
magazines,  novels,  hbrary-books,  "poetry,"  &c. — such 
as  The  States  to-day  possess  and  circulate — of  unques- 
tionable aid  and  value — hundreds  of  new  volumes  an- 
nually composed  and  brought  out  here,  respectable 
enough,  indeed  unsurpassed  in  smartness  and  erudi- 
tion— with  further  hundreds,  or  rather  millions,  (as  by 
free  forage,  or  theft,  aforementioned,)  also  thrown  into 
the  market, — And  yet,  all  the  while,  the  said  nation, 
land,  strictly  speaking,  may  possess  no  Hteratui'e  at  all. 

Repeating  our  inquiry.  What,  then,  do  we  mean  by 
real  literature?  especially,  the  American  literatui'e  of 
the  future  ?  Hard  questions  to  meet.  The  clues  are 
inferential,  and  turn  us  to  the  past.  At  best,  we  t;an 
only  offer  suggestions,  comj^arisons,  cu'cuits. 

— It  must  still  be  reiterated,  as,  for  the  purpose  of 
these  Memoranda,  the  deep  lesson  of  History  and  Time, 
that  all  else  in  the  contributions  of  a  nation  or  age, 
through  its  politics,  materials,  heroic  personalities,  mili- 
tary eclat,  &c.,  remains  crude,  and  defers,  in  any  close 
and  thorough-going  estimate,  until  vitalized  by  national, 
original  archetypes  in  literature.  They  only  put  the 
nation  in  form,  finally  tell  anything,  jjrove,  complete 
anything — perpetuate  anything.     Without  doubt,  some 


Democeatic  Vistas.  51 

of  tlie  richest  and  most  powerful  and  popnlous  eommn- 
nilies  of  the  antique  world,  and  soma  of  the  gTandesc 
personalities  and  events,  have,  to  after  and  present 
times,  left  themselves  entirely  unbequeathed.  Doubt- 
less, greater  than  any  that  have  come  down  to  us,  were 
among  those  lands,  heroisms,  j)ersons,  that  have  not 
come  down  to  us  at  all,  even  by  name,  date,  or  location. 
Others  have  arrived  safely,  as  from  voyages  over  wide, 
centuries-stretcliing  seas.  The  little  ships,  the  miracles 
that  have  buoyed  them,  and  by  incredible  chances  safely 
conveyed  them,  (or  the  best  of  them,  their  meaning  and 
essence,)  over  long  wastes,  darkness,  lethargy,  igno- 
rance, &c.,  have  been  a  few  inscriptions — a  few  im- 
mortal compositions,  small  in  size,  yet  compassing  what 
measureless  values  of  reminiscence,  contemporary  por- 
traitures, manners,  idioms  and  beliefs,  with  deepest  in- 
ference, hint  and  thought,  to  tie  and  touch  forever  the 
old,  new  body,  and  the  old,  new  soul.  These  !  and  still 
these !  bearing  the  freight  so  dear — dearer  than  pride — 
dearer  than  love.  All  the  best  experience  of  humanity, 
folded,  saved,  freighted  to  us  here !  Some  of  these  tiny 
ships  we  call  Old  and  New  Testament,  Homer,  Esehylus, 
Plato,  Juvenal,  &c.  Precious  minims !  I  think,  if  we 
were  forced  to  choose,  rather  than  have  you,  and  the 
Ukes  of  you,  and  what  belongs  to,  and  has  grown  of 
you,  blotted  out  and  gone,  we  could  better  afford,  ap- 
palling as  that  would  be,  to  lose  all  actual  shijDS,  this 
day  fastened  by  wharf,  or  floating  on  wave,  and  see 
them,  with  all  their  cargoes,  scuttled  and  sent  to  the 
bottom. 

Gathered  by  geniuses  of  city,  race,  or  age,  and  put  by 
them  in  highest  of  art's  forms,  namely,  the  literary  form, 
the  peculiar  combinations,  and  the  outshows  of  that  city, 
age,  or  race,  its  particular  modes  of  the  universal  attri- 
butes and  passions,  its  faiths,  heroes,  lovers  and  gods, 
wars,  traditions,  struggles,  crimes,  emotions,  joys,  (or 
the  subtle  spirit  of  these,)  having  been  passed  on  to  us 
to  illumine  our  own  selfhood,  and  its  experiences — what 
they  supply,  indispensable  and  highest,  if  taken  away, 
nothing  else  in  all  the  world's  boundless  store-houses 
could  make  up  to  us,  or  ever  again  return. 


52  Democraxic  Vi3Tas. 

For  us,  along  the  great  highways  of  tiroe,  those  monu- 
ments stand — those  forms  of  majesty  and  beauty.  For 
us  those  beacons  burn  through  all  the  nights.  Un- 
known Egyptians,  graving  hieroglyj)hs  ;  Hindus,  with 
hymn  and  apothegm  and  endless  epic  ;  Hebrew  prophet, 
with  spirituality,  as  in  flashes  of  lightning,  conscience, 
like  red-hot  iron,  plaintive  songs  and  screams  of  ven- 
geance for  tyrannies  and  enslavement ;  Christ,  ^vith 
bent  head,  brooding  love  and  peace,  like  a  dove  ;  Greek, 
creating  eternal  shapes  of  physical  and  esthetic  propor- 
tion ;  Roman,  lord  of  satire,  the  sword,  and  the  codex ; — 
of  the  figures,  some  far-off  and  veiled,  others  nearer  and 
visible ;  Dante,  stalking  with  lean  form,  nothing  but 
fibre,  not  a  grain  of  superfluous  flesh  ;  Angelo,  and  the 
great  painters,  architects,  musicianrf  ;  rich  Shakespeare, 
luxuriant  as  the  sun,  artist  and  singer  of  Feudalism  in 
its  sunset,  with  all  the  gorgeous  colors,  owner  thereof, 
and  using  them  at  will  ; — and  so  to  such  as  German 
Kant  and  Hegel,  where  they,  though  near  us,  leaping 
over  the  ages,  sit  again,  impassive,  imperturbable,  like 
the  Egyptian  gods.  Of  these,  and  the  like  of  these,  is 
it  too  much,  indeed,  to  return  to  our  favorite  fig-ure,  and 
view  them  as  orbs  and  systems  of  orbs,  moving  in  free 
paths  in  the  spaces  of  that  other  heaven,  the  kosmic  in- 
tellect, the  Soul? 

Ye  powerful  and  resplendent  ones !  ye  were,  in  your 
atmospheres,  grown  not  for  America,  but  rather  for  her 
foes,  the  Feudal  and  the  old — while  our  genius  is  Demo- 
cratic and  modern.  Yet  could  ye,  indeed,  but  breathe 
your  breath  of  life  into  our  New  World's  nostrils — not 
to  enslave  us,  as  now,  but,  for  our  needs,  to  breed  a 
spirit  like  your  owni — perhaps,  (dare  we  to  say  it?)  to 
dominate,  even  destroy,  what  you  yourselves  have  left ! 
On  your  plane,  and  no  less,  but  even  higher  and  wider, 
will  I  mete  and  measure  for  oiu*  wants  to-day  and  here. 
I  demand  races  of  orbic  bards,  with  unconditional,  un- 
compromising sway.  Come  forth>  sweet  democratic 
despots  of  the  west ! 

By  points  and  specimens  like  these  we,  in  reflection, 
token  what  we  mean  by  any  land's  or  people's  genuine 


Democratic  Vistas.  53 

literature.  And  thus  compared  and  tested,  judging 
amid  the  influence  of  loftiest  products  only,  what  do 
our  current  Qopious  fields  of  print,  covering,  in  mani- 
fold forms,  the  United  States,  better,  for  an  analogy, 
present,  than,  as  in  certain  regions  of  the  sea,  those 
spreading,  undulating  masses  of  squid,  through  v.'hieh 
the  whale,  swimming  with  head  half  out,  feeds  ? 

Not  but  that  doubtless  our  current  so-called  litera- 
ture, (hke  an  endless  supply  of  small  coin,)  performs  a 
certain  service,  and  may-be,  too,  the  service  needed  for 
the  time,  (the  preparation  service,  as  children  learn  to 
spell.)  Everybody  reads,  and  truly  nearly  everybody 
writes,  either  books,  or  for  the  magazines  or  journals. 
The  matter  has  magnitude,  too,  after  a  sort.  There  is 
something  impressive  about  the  huge  editions  of  the 
dailies  and  weeklies,  the  mountain-stacks  of  white  paper 
piled  in  the  press-vaults,  and  the  proud,  crashing,  ten- 
cylinder  i^resses,  which  I  can  stand  and  watch  any  time 
by  the  half  hour.  Then,  (though  The  States  in  the  field 
of  Imagination  present  not  a  single  first-class  work,  not 
a  single  great  Literatus,)  the  main  objects,  to  amuse,  to 
titillate,  to  pass  away  time,  to  circulate  the  news  and 
rumors  of  news,  to  rhyme  and  read  rhyme,  are  jet  at- 
tained, and  on  a  scale  of  infinity.  To-day,  in  books,  in 
the  rivalry  of  writers,  esj^ecially  novelists,  success,  (so- 
called,)  is  for  him  or  her  who  strikes  the  mean  flat  aver- 
age, the  sensational  appetite  for  stimulus,  incident,  &c., 
and  depicts,  to  the  common  cahbre,  sensual,  exterior 
life.  To  such,  or  the  luckiest  of  them,  as  we  see,  the 
audiences  are  limitless  and  profitable ;  but  they  cease 
presently.  While,  this  day  or  any  day,  to  workmen, 
portraying  interior  or  spiritual  life,  the  audiences  were 
limited,  and  often  laggard — but  they  last  forever. 

— Compared  with  the  past,  our  modern  science  soars, 
and  our  journals  serve ;  but  ideal  and  even  ordinary 
romantic  literature  does  not,  I  think,  substantially  ad- 
vance. Behold  the  prohfic  brood  of  the  contemporary 
novel,  magazine-tale,  theatre-play,  &c.  The  same  end- 
less thread  of  tangled  and  superlative  love-story,  in- 
herited, apparently,  from  the  Amadises  and  Palmerins 
of  the  13th,  14:th  and  15th  centuries  over  there  in  Eu- 


54  Democratic  Vistas. 

rope.  The  costumes  and  associations  are  broiiglit  clov\-n 
to  date,  the  seasoning  is  hotter  and  more  varied,  the 
dragons  and  ogres  are  left  out — but  the  thing,  I  should 
say,  has  not  advanced — is  just  as  sensational,  just  as 
strained — remains  about  the  same,  nor  more,  nor  less. 

— What  is  the  reason,  our  time,  oui'  lauds,  that  we 
see  no  fresh  local  coiu-age,  sanit}'^,  of  our  own — the  Mis- 
sissippi, stalwart  Western  men,  real  mental  and  physical 
facts,  Southerners,  &c.,  in  the  body  of  our  literature  ? 
especially  the  poetic  part  of  it.  But  always,  instead,  a 
parcel  of  dandies  and  ennuyees,  dapper  httle  gentlemen 
fi'om  abroad,  who  ilood  us  with  their  thin  ssntiment 
of  parlors,  parasols,  piano-songs,  tinkling  rhymes,  the 
five-huudredtb  importation,  or  whimpering  and  crying 
about  something,  chasing  one  aborted  conceit  after  an- 
other, and  forever  occupied  in  dyspeptic  amours  with 
dyspeptic  women. 

While,  current  and  novel,  the  grandest  events  and 
revolutions,  and  stormiest  passions  of  history,  are  cross- 
ing to-day  with  unparalleled  rapidity  and  magnificence 
over  the  stages  of  our  own  and  aU  the  continents,  offer- 
ing new  materials,  opening  new  vistas,  with  largest 
needs,  inviting  the  daring  launching  forth  of  concep- 
tions in  Literature,  inspu'ed  by  them,  soaring  in  highest 
regions,  serving  Art  in  its  highest,  (which  is  only  the 
other  name  for  serving  God,  and  serving  Humanity,) 
where  is  the  man  of  letters,  where  is  the  book,  with  any 
nobler  aim  than  to  follow  in  the  old  track,  repeat  what 
has  been  said  before — and,  as  its  utmost  triumph,  sell 
well,  and  be  erudite  or  elegant  ? 

Marie  the  roads,  the  processes,  through  which  These 
States  have  arrived,  standing  easy,  ever-equal,  ever- 
compact,  in  their  range,  to-da3\  European  adven- 
tures? the  most  antique?  Asiatic  or  Afi'ican?  old 
history — miracles — romances?  Rather,  our  ov.ti  un- 
questioned facts.  They  hasten,  incredible,  blazing- 
bright  as  fire.  From  the  deeds  and  days  of  Columbus 
down  to  the  present,  and  including  the  present — and 
especially  the  late  Secession  war — when  I  con  them,  I 
feel,  every  leaf,  Hke  stopping  to  see  if  I  have  not  made 


Democratic  Vistas.  55 

a  mistake,  and  fallen  upon   the  splendid  figments  of 
some  dream. 

But  it  is  no  dream.  Yve  stand,  live,  move,  in  tlie 
litige  flow  of  oiu"  age's  materialism — in  its  spirituality. 
We  have  had  founded  for  us  the  most  positive  of  lands. 
The  founders  have  passed  to  other  spheres — But  what 
are  these  terrible  duties  they  have  left  us  ? 

Their  politics  the  United  States  have,  in  my  opiaion, 
with  all  their  faults,  already  substantially  estabhshed, 
for  good,  on  their  own  native,  sound,  long-vista'd  prin- 
ciples, never  to  be  overturned,  offering  a  sui'e  basis  for 
all  the  rest.  With  that,  theu-  future  religious  forms, 
sociology,  literatui'e,  teachers,  schools,  costumes,  &c., 
are  of  course  to  make  a  compact  whole,  uniform,  on 
tallying  jDiinciples.  For  how  can  we  remain,  divided, 
contradicting  ourselves,  this  way  ?  *  I  say  we  can  only 
attain  harmony  and  stability  by  consulting  ensemble, 
and  the  ethic  purports,  and  faithfully  building  upon 
them. 

For  the  New  World,  indeed,  after  two  grand  stages 
of  preparation-strata,  I  perceive  that  now,  a  third  stage, 
being  ready  for,  (and  without  which  the  other  two  were 
useless,)  with  unmistakable  signs  appears.  The  Fii'st 
Stage  was  the  planning  and  putting  on  record  the  po- 
litical foundation  rights  of  immense  masses  of  peoj)le — 
indeed  all  people — in  the  organization  of  Republican 
National,  State,  and  Municipal  governments,  all  con- 
structed with  reference  to  each,  and  each  to  all.  This 
is  the  American  programme,  not  for  classes,  but  for 
universal  man,  and  is  embodied  in  the  compacts  of  the 


*  Note,  to-day,  an  instructive,  curioiis  spectacle  and  conflict. 
Science,  (t^vvin,  in  its  fields,  of  Democracy  in  its) — Science,  testing 
absolutely  all  thouglits,  all  works,  lias  already  burst  well  xipon 
the  world — a  Sun,  mounting,  most  illuminating,  most  glorious — 
surely  never  again  to  set.  But  against  it,  deeply  eutrenclied, 
holding  possession,  yet  remains,  (not  only  through  the  churches 
and  schools,  ijut  by  imaginative  literature,  and  unregenerate 
poetry,)  the  fossil  theology  of  the  mythic-materialistic,  supersti- 
tious, imtaught  and  credulous,  fable-loving,  primitive  ages  of  hu- 
manity. 


5G  Democratic  Vistas. 

Declaration  of  Independence,  and,  as  it  began  and  lias 
now  grown,  with  its  amendments,  the  Federal  Consti- 
tution— and  in  the  State  governments,  with  all  their 
interiors,  and  with  general  sufErage  ;  those  having  the 
sense  not  only  of  what  is  in  themselves,  but  that  their 
certain  several  things  started,  planted,  hundreds  of 
others,  in  the  same  direction,  duly  arise  and  follow. 
The  Second  Stage  relates  to  material  prosj)erity,  wealth, 
produce,  labor-saving  machines,  iron,  cotton,  local,  State 
and  continental  railways,  intercommunication  and  trade 
with  all  lands,  steamships,  mining,  general  employment, 
organization  of  great  cities,  cheap  appliances  for  com- 
fort, numberless  technical  schools,  books,  newspapers, 
a  currency  for  money  circulation,  &c.  The  Third  Stage, 
rising  out  of  the  previous  ones,  to  make  them  and  all 
illustrious,  I,  now,  for  one,  promulge,  announcing  a  na- 
tive Expression  Spirit,  getting  into  form,  adult,  and 
through  mentality,  for  These  States,  self-contained,  dif- 
ferent from  others,  more  expansive,  more  rich  and  free, 
to  be  evidenced  by  original  authors  and  poets  to  come, 
by  American  personalities,  plenty  of  them,  male  and 
female,  traversing  the  States,  none  excepted — and  by 
native  superber  tableaux  and  growths  of  language, 
songs,  operas,  orations,  lectures,  architecture — and  by 
a'  sublime  and  serious  Religious  Democracy  sternly 
taking  command,  dissolving  the  old,  sloughing  off  sur- 
faces, and  from  its  own  interior  and  vital  principles, 
entirely  reconstructing  Society. 

— For  America,  type  of  progress,  and  of  essential 
faith  in  Man — above  all  his  errors  and  wickedness — 
few  suspect  how  deep,  hovf  deep  it  really  strikes.  The 
world  evidently  supposes,  and  we  have  evidently  sup- 
posed so  too,  that  The  States  are  merely  to  achieve  the 
equal  franchise,  an  elective  government — to  inaugiu'ate 
the  respectability  of  labor,  and  become  a  nation  of  prac- 
tical operatives,  law-abiding,  orderly  and  well-oiJ".  Yes, 
those  are  indeed  parts  of  the  tasks  of  America ;  but 
they  not  only  do  not  exhaust  the  progressive  concep- 
tion, but  rather  arise,  teeming  with  it,  as  the  mediums 
of  deeper,  higher  progress.  Daughter  of  a  physical 
revolution — Mother  of  the  true  revolutions,  which  are 


Democuatio  Vistas.  •  57 

of  tlie  interior  life,  and  of  tha  arte.  For  so  long-  as  the 
spirit  is  not  clianged,  any  change  of  appearance  is  ol  no 
avail. 

— The  old  men,  I  remember  as  a  boy,  were  always 
talking  of  American  Independence.  What  is  independ- 
ence ?  Freedom  from  all  laws  or  bonds  except  those  of 
one's  own  being,  controlled  by  the  universal  ones.  To 
lands,  to  man,  to  woman,  what  is  there  at  last  to  each, 
but  the  inherent  soul,  nativity,  idiocrasy,  free,  highest- 
poised,  soaring  its  own  flight,  following  out  itself  ? 

— At  present,  These  States,  in  their  theology  and  so- 
cial standards,  &c.,  (of  greater  importance  than  their 
political  institutions,)  are  entirely  held  possession  of  by 
foreign  lands.  We  see  the  sons  and  daughters  of  the 
New  World,  ignorant  of  its  genius,  not  yet  inaugurating 
the  native,  the  universal,  and  the  near,  still  importing 
the  distant,  the  partial,  and  the  dead.  We  see  London, 
Paris,  Italy — not  original,  superb,  as  where  they  be- 
long— ^but  second-hand  here  where  they  do  not  belbnii'. 
W^e  see  the  shreds  of  Hebrews,  Romans,  Greeks ;  but 
where,  on  her  own  soil,  do  we  see,  in  any  faithful,  high- 
est, proud  expi'ession,  America  herself?  I  sometimes 
question  whether  she  has  a  corner  in  her  own  house. 

Not  but  that  in  one  sense,  and  a  very  grand  one,  good 
theology,  good  Art,  or  good  Literature,  has  certain  fea- 
tures shared  in  common.  The  combination  fraternizes, 
ties  the  races — is,  in  many  particulars,  under  laws  appli- 
cable indifferently  to  all,  irrespective  of  climate  or  date, 
and,  from  whatever  source,  appeals  to  emotions,  pride, 
love,  spirituality,  common  to  humankind.  Neverthe- 
less, they  touch  a  man  closest,  (perhaps  only  actually 
touch  him,)  even  in  these,  in  their  expression  through 
autochthonic  lights  and  shades,  flavors,  fondnesses, 
aversions,  specific  incidents,  illustrations,  out  of  his  own 
nationality,  geography,  surroundings,  antecedents,  &c. 
The  spirit  and  the  form  are  one,  and  depend  far  more 
on  association,  identity  and  place,  than  is  supposed. 
Subtly  interwoven  with  the  mateiiality  and  personality 
of  a  land,  a  race — Teuton,  Turk,  Californian,  or  what 
not — there  is  always  something — I  can  hardly  tell  what 


58  Democratic  Vistas. 

it  is, — History  but  describes  the  results  of  it, — it  is  the 
same  as  the  untellable  look  of  some  human  faces.  Na- 
ture, too,  in  her  stolid  forms,  is  full  of  it — ^but  to  most 
it  is  there  a  secret.  This  something  is  rooted  in  the  in- 
visible roots,  the  profoundest  meanings  of  that  place, 
race,  or  nationality  ;  and  to  absorb  and  again  effuse  it, 
uttering  words  and  products  as  from  its  midst,  and  car- 
rying it  into  highest  regions,  is  the  work,  or  a  main  part 
of  the  work,  of  any  country's  true  author,  poet,  histo- 
rian, lecturer,  and  perhaps  even  priest  and  j^Lilosoph. 
Here,  and  here  only,  are  the  foundations  for  our  really 
valuable  and  permanent  verse,  drama,  &c. 

But  at  present,  (judged  by  any  higher  scale  than  that 
which  finds  the  chief  ends  of  existence  to  be  to  fever- 
ishly make  money  dvu'ing  one-half  of  it,  and  by  some 
"  amusement,"  or  perhaps  foreign  travel,  flippantly  kill 
time,  the  other  half,)  and  considered  with  reference  to 
purposes  of  patriotism,  health,  a  noble  Personality,  re- 
ligion, and  the  democratic  adjustments,  all  these  swarms 
of  poems,  dramatic  plays,  resultant  so  far  from  Ameri- 
can intellect,  and  the  formulation  of  our  best  ideas,  are 
useless  and  a  mockery.  They  strengthen  and  nourish 
no  one,  express  nothing  characteristic,  give  decision  and 
piu-pose  to  no  one,  and  suffice  only  the  lowest  level  of 
vacant  minds. 

Of  the  question,  indeed,  of  what  is  called  the  Drama, 
or  dramatic  pi-esontation  in  the  United  States,  as  now 
put  forth  at  the  thv^^atres,  I  should  say  it  deserves  to  be 
treated  with  the  same  gravity,  and  on  a  jDar  with  the 
questions  of  ornamental  confectionery  at  public  dinners, 
or  the  arrangement  of  curtains  and  hangings  in  a  ball- 
room— nor  more,  nor  less. 

Of  the  other,  I  will  not  insult  the  reader's  intelli- 
gence, (once  really  entering  into  the  atmosphere  of 
these  Vistas,)  by  supposing  it  necessary  to  show,  in  de- 
tail, why  the  copious  dribble,  either  of  oui'  little  or  well- 
known  rhymesters,  does  not  fulfil,  in  any  respect,  the 
needs  and  august  occasions  of  this  land.  America  de- 
mands a  Poetry  that  is  bold,  modern,  and  all-surround- 
ing and  kosmical,  as  she  is  herself.  It  must  in  no  re- 
spect ignore  science  or  the  modern,  but  inspire  itself 


Democeatig  Vistas.  59 

witli  science  and  the  modern.  It  must  bend  its  vision 
toward  the  future,  more  than  the  past.  Like  America, 
it  must  extricate  itself  from  even  the  greatest  models 
of  the  past,  and,  while  courteous  to  them,  must  have 
entire  faith  in  itself  and  products  out  of  its  own  origi- 
nal spirit  only.  Like  her,  it  must  place  in  the  van,  and 
hold  up  at  all  hazards,  the  banner  of  the  divine  pride 
of  man  in  himself,  (the  radical  foundation  of  the  new 
religion.)  Long'  enough  have  the  People  been  listening 
to  poems  in  which  common  Humanity,  deferential,  bends 
low,  humiliated,  acknowledging  superiors.  But  America 
listens  to  no  such  poems.  Erect,  inflated,  and  fully  self- 
esteeming  be  the  chant ;  and  then  America  will  listen 
with  pleased  ears. 

— Nor  may  the  genuine  gold,  the  gems,  when  brought 
to  light  at  last,  be  probably  ushered  forth  from  any  of 
the  quarters  currently  counted  on.  To-day,  doubtless, 
the  infant  Genius  of  American  poetic  expression,  (elud- 
ing those  highly-refined  imported  and  gilt-edged  themes, 
and  sentimental  and  butterfly  flights,  pleasant  to  New 
York,  Boston,  and  Philadelphia  publishers — causing 
tender  spasms  in  the  coteries,  and  warranted  not  to 
chafe  the  sensitive  cuticle  of  the  most  exquisitely  artifi- 
cial gossamer  delicacy,)  lies  sleeping  far  away,  happily 
•unrecognized  and  uninjured  by  the  coteries,  the  art- 
wrifcers,  the  talkers  and  critics  of  the  saloons,  or  the 
lecturers  in  the  colleges — lies  sleeping,  aside,  unreck- 
ing  itself,  in  some  Western  idiom,  or  native  Michigan 
or  Tennessee  repartee,  or  stump-speech — or  in  Ken- 
tucky or  Georgia  or  the  Carolinas — or  in  some  slang  or 
local  song  or  allusion  of  the  Manhattan,  Boston,  Phila- 
delphia or  Baltimore  mechanic — or  up  in  the  Maine 
woods — or  off  in  the  hut  of  the  California  miner,  or 
crossing  the  Kocky  mountains,  or  along  the  Pacific  rail- 
road— or  on  the  breasts  of  the  young  farmers  of  the 
Northwest,  or  Canada,  or  boatmen  of  the  lakes.  Eude 
and  coarse  nursing-beds  these  ;  but  only  from  such  be- 
ginnings and  stocks,  indigenous  here,  may  haply  arrive, 
be  grafted,  and  sprout,  in  time,  flowers  of  genuine  Amer- 
ican aroma,  and  fi'uits  truly  and  fully  our  own. 

— I  say  it  were  a  standing  disgrace  to  These  States — 


GO  DEMOCRATIC  Vistas. 

I  say  it  were  a  disgrace  to  any  nation,  disiingnislied 
above  others  by  the  variety  and  vastness  of  its  teiTito- 
ries,  its  materials,  its  inventive  activit}^,  and  the  splendid 
practicality  of  its  people,  not  to  rise  and  soar  above 
others  also  in  its  original  styles  in  Uterature  and  art, 
and  its  own  supjily  of  intellectual  and  esthetic  master- 
pieces, archetypal,  and  consistent  with  itself.  I  know 
not  a  land  except  ours  that  has  not;,  to  some  extent, 
however  small,  made  its  title  clear.  The  Scotch  have 
their  born  ballads,  tunes  subtly  expressing  their  past 
and  present,  and  expressing  character.  The  Irish  Lave 
theirs.  England,  Italy,  France,  Spain,  theirs.  AVhat 
has  America?  With  exhaustless  mines  of  the  richest 
ore  of  epic,  lyric,  tale,  tune,  picture,  &c.,  in  the  Four 
Years'  War  ;  with,  indeed,  I  sometimes  think,  the  richest 
masses  of  material  ever  aiforded  a  nation,  more  varie- 
gated, and  on  a  larger  scale — the  first  sign  of  j^ropor- 
tionate,  native,  imaginative  Soul,  and  first-class  works 
to  match,  is,  (I  cannot  too  often  repeat,)  so  far  wanting. 

When  the  hundredth  year  of  this  Union  arrives,  there 
will  be  some  Fort}"^  to  Fifty  great  States,  among  them 
Canada  and  Cuba.  The  pojDulation  will  be  sixty  or  sev- 
enty millions.  The  Pacific  will  be  ours,  and  the  Atlantic 
mainly  oars.  There  will  be  daily  electric  communica- 
tion with  every  part  of  the  globe.  What  an  age !  What 
a  land!  Where,  elsewhere,  one  so  great?  The  Indi- 
viduahty  of  one  nation  must  then,  as  always,  lead  the 
world.  Can  there  be  any  doubt  who  the  leader  ought 
to  be  ?  Bear  in  mind,  though,  that  nothing  less  than 
the  mightiest  original  non-subordinated  Soul  has  ever 
really,  gloriously  led,  or  ever  can  lead.  (This  Soul — 
its  other  name,  in  these  Vistas,  is  Literature.) 

In  fond,  fancy  leaping  those  hundred  years  ahead,  let 
us  SiU'vey  America's  works,  poems,  philosophies,  fulfill- 
ing prophecies,  and  giving  form  and  decision  to  best 
ideals.  Much  that  is  now  undreamed  of,  we  might  then 
perhaps  see  established,  luxuriantly  cropping  forth,  rich- 
ness, vigor  of  letters  and  of  artistic  expression,  in  whose 
products  character  will  be  a  main  reqairement,  and  not 
merely  erudition  or  elegance. 


Democratic  Vistas.  61 

Intense  and  loving  coinratlesliip,  the  personal  and 
passionate  attachmeut  of  man  to  man — which,  hard  to 
detiue,  underlies  the  lessons  and  ideals  of  the  profound 
saviours  of  every  land  and  age,  and  which  seems  to 
promise,  when  thoroughly  developed,  cultivated  and 
recognized  in  manners  and  Literature,  the  most  sub- 
stantial hope  and  safety  of  the  future  of  These  States, 
will  then  be  fully  expressed.* 

A  strong-fibred  Joyousness,  and  Faith,  and  the  sense 
of  Health  al  fresco,  may  well  enter  into  the  preparation 
of  future  noble  American  authorship.  Part  of  the  test 
of  a  great  Literatus  shall  be  the  absence  in  him  of  the 
idea  of  the  covert,  the  artificial,  the  lurid,  the  malefi- 
cent, the  de^dl,  the  grim  estimates  inherited  from  the 
Puritans,  hell,  natural  depravity,  and  the  hke.  The 
great  Literatus  will  be  hnown,  among  the  rest,  by  his 
cheerful  simplicity,  his  adherence  to  natural  standards, 
his  limitless  faith  in  God,  his  reverence,  and  by  the  ab- 
sence in  him  of  doubt,  ennui,  bui'lesque,  persiflage,  or 
any  strained  and  temporary  fashion. 

Nor  must  I  fail,  again  and  yet  again,  to  clinch,  reit- 
erate more  plainly  still,  (O  that  mdeed  such  survey  as 
we  fancy,  may  show  in  time  this  part  completed  also!) 
the  lofty  aim,  surely  the  proudest  and  the  purest,  in 
vrhose  service  the  futui'e  Literatus,  of  whatever  field, 
may  gladly  labor.     As  we  have  intimated,  offsetting  the 


*  It  is  to  the  development,  identification,  and  general  prevalence 
of  that  fervid  comradeship,  (the  adliesive  love,  at  least  rivaling  the 
amative  love  hitherto  possessing  imaginative  literature,  if  not 
going  beyond  it,)  tliat  I  look  for  the  counterbalance  and  offset  of 
our  materialistic  and  vulgar  American  Democracy,  and  for  the 
sjiiritualization  thereof.  INIany  will  say  it  is  a  dream,  and  w\\\ 
not  follow  my  inferences ;  but  I  confidently  expect  a  time  when 
there  ^\ill  be  seen,  running  like  a  half-hid  warp  through;  all  the 
myriad  audible  and  visible  worldly  interests  of  America,'  ui:reads 
of  manly  friendship,  fond  and  loving,  pure  and  sweet,  strong  and 
life-long,  carried  to  degrees  hitherto  unknown — not  only  giving 
tone  to  individual  character,  and  making  it  unprecedently  emo- 
tional, muscular,  heroic,  and  refined,  but  having  deepest  relations 
to  general  politics.  I  say  Democracy  infers  such  loving  comrade- 
ship, as  its  most  inevitable  tvdn  or  coimterpart,  without  which  it 
will  be  incomplete,  in  vain,  and  incapable  of  perpetuating  itself. 


62  Democratic  Vistas. 

material  civilization  of  oiu'  race,  our  Nationality,  its 
wealth,  territories,  factories,  poiDulation,  luxuries,  pro- 
ducts, trade,  and  military  and  naval  strength,  and 
breathing  breath  of  life  into  all  these,  and  more,  must 
be  its  Moral  Civilization — the  formulation,  expression, 
and  aidancy  whereof,  is  the  very  highest  height  of  lit- 
erature. And  still  within  this  wheel,  revolves  another 
wheel.  The  climax  of  this  loftiest  range  of  modern 
civilization,  giving  finish  and  hue,  and  rising  above  all 
the  gorgeous  shows  and  results  of  wealth,  intellect, 
power,  and  art,  as  such — above  even  theology  and  reli- 
gious fervor— is  to  be  its  development,  fi-om  the  eternal 
bases,  and  the  fit  expression,  of  absolute  Conscience, 
moral  soundness.  Justice.  I  say  there  is  nothing  else 
higher,  for  Nation,  Individual,  or  for  Literature,  than 
the  idea,  and  practical  realization  and  expression  of  the 
idea,  of  Conscience,  kept  at  topmost  mark,  absolute  in 
itself,  well  cultivated,  uncontaminated  by  the  manifold 
weeds,  the  cheats,  changes,  and  vulgarities  of  the  fash- 
ions of  the  world.  Even  in  rehgious  fervor  there  is  a 
touch  of  animal  heat.  But  moral  conscientiousness, 
crystalline,  without  flaw,  not  Godlike  only,  entirely 
Human,  awes  and  enchants  me  forever.  Great  is  emo- 
tional Love,  even  in  the  order  of  the  rational  universe. 
But,  if  we  must  make  gradations,  I  am  clear  there  is 
something  greater.  Power,  love,  veneration,  products, 
genius,  esthetics,  tried  by  subtlest  comparisons,  analyses, 
and  in  serenest  moods,  somewhere  fail,  somehow  be- 
come vain.  Then  noiseless,  with  flowing  steps,  the  lord, 
the  sun,  the  last  Ideal  comes.  By  the  names  Eight, 
Justice,  Truth,  we  suggest,  but  do  not  describe  it.  To 
the  world  of  men  it  remains  a  di-eam,  an  idea  as  they 
call  it.  But  no  dream  is  it  to  the  wise — but  the  proud- 
est, almost  only  soKd  lasting  thing  of  all. 

I  say,  again  and  forever,  the  triumph  of  America's 
democratic  formules  is  to  be  the  inauguration,  growth, 
acceptance,  and  unmistakable  supremacy  among  indi- 
viduals, cities,  States,  and  the  Nation,  of  moral  Con- 
science. Its  analogy  in  the  material  universe  is  what 
holds  together  this  world,  and  every  object  upon  it,  and 
carries  its  dynamics  on  forever  sure  and  safe.    Its  lack. 


Democratic  Vistas,  63 

and  the  persistent  shirking  of  it,  as  in  life,  sociology, 
literature,  politics,  business,  and  even  sermonizing,  these 
times,  or  any  times,  still  leaves  the  abysm,  the  mortal 
flaw  and  smutch,  mocking  civilization  to-day,  with  all 
its  unquestioned  triumphs,  and  aU  the  civilization  so 
far  known.  Such  is  the  thought  I  would  especially  be- 
queath to  any  earnest  persons,  students  of  these  Vistas, 
and  following  after  me.* 

Present  Literatiire,  while  magnificently  fulfilling  cer- 
tain popular  demands,  Vv'ith  plenteous  knovf ledge  and 
verbal  smartness,  is  profoundly  sophisticated,  insane, 
and  its  very  joy  is  morbid.  It  needs  retain  the  knowl- 
edge, and  fulfil  the  demands,  but  needs  to  j)urge  itself ; 
or  rather  needs  to  be  born  again,  become  unsophisti- 
cated, and  become  sane.  It  needs  tally  and  exj)ress 
Nature,  and  the  spirit  of  Nature,  and  to  know  and  obey 
the  standards.  I  say  the  question  of  Nature,  largely 
considered,  involves  the  questions  of  the  esthetic,  the 
emotional,  and  the  religious — and  involves  happiness. 
A  fitly  born  and  bred  race,  growing  up  in  right  condi- 


*  I  am  reminded  as  I  write  tliat  out  of  this  very  Conscience,  or 
idea  of  Conscience,  of  intense  moral  right,  and  in  its  name  and 
strained  construction,  the  worst  fanaticisms,  wars,  persecutions, 
murders,  &c..  have  yet,  in  all  lands,  been  broached,  and  have  come 
to  their  devilish  fruition.  Much  is  to  be  said — but  I  may  say 
here,  and  in  response,  that  side  by  side  with  the  unflagging  stimu- 
lation of  tlie  elements  of  Religion  and  Conscience  must  henceforth 
move  with  equal  sway,  science,  absolute  reason,  and  the  general 
proportionate  development  of  the  whole  man.  These  scientific 
facts,  deductions,  are  divine  too — precious  counted  parts  of  moral 
civilization,  and,  with  physical  health,  indispensable  to  it,  to  pre- 
vent fanaticism.  For  Abstract  Religion,  I  perceive,  is  easily  led 
astray,  ever  credulous,  and  is  capable  of  devouring,  remorseless, 
like  fire  and  flame.  Conscience,  too,  isolated  from  all  else,  and 
from  the  emotional  nature,  may  but  attain  the  beauty  and  purity 
of  glacial,  snowy  ice.  We  want,  for  These  States,  for  the  general 
character,  a  cheerful,  religious  fervor,  enhued  with  the  ever-present 
modifications  of  the  human  emotions,  friendship,  benevolence, 
with  a  fair  field  for  scientific  inquiry,  the  right  of  individual 
judgment,  and  alrrays  the  cooling  influences  of  material  Nature. 
We  want  not  again  either  the  religious  fervor  of  the  Spanish  In- 
quigitiou,  uor  the  morality  of  the  New  England  Puritans. 


G4  Democratic  Vistas. 

tions  of  out-door  as  much  as  in-door  harmony,  ac- 
tivity, and  development,  would  j^i'obably,  from  and  in 
those  conditions,  find  it  enough  merely  to  live — and 
would,  in  their  relations  to  the  sky,  air,  water,  trees, 
&c.,  and  to  the  countless  common  shov/s,  and  in  the 
fact  of  Life  itself,  discover  and  achieve  happiness — 
with  Beirg  suffused  night  and  day  by  wholesome 
extasy,  surpassing  all  the  pleasures  that  wealth,  amuse- 
ment, and  even  gratified  intellect,  erudition,  or  the  sense 
of  art,  can  give. 

In  the  proj^hetic  literature  of  These  States,  Nature, 
true  Nature,  and  the  true  idea  of  Nature,  long  absent, 
must,  above  all,  become  fully  restored,  enlarged,  and 
must  furnish  the  pervading  atmosphere  to  poems,  and 
the  test  of  all  high  literary  and  esthetic  compositions. 
I  do  not  mean  the  smooth  walks,  trimm'd  hedges,  but- 
terflies, poseys  and  nightingales  of  the  English  poets, 
but  the  whole  Orb,  with  its  geologic  history'-,  the  Kosmos, 
carrying  fire  and  snow,  that  rolls  through  the  illimitable 
areas,  light  as  a  feather,  though  weighing  billions  of 
tons.  Furthermore,  as  by  what  we  now  partially  call 
Nature  is  intended,  at  most,  only  what  is  entertainable 
by  the  physical  conscience,  the  lessons  of  the  esthetic, 
the  sense  of  matter,  and  of  good  animal  health — on 
these  it  must  be  distinctly  accumulated,  incorporated, 
that  man,  comprehending  these,  has,  in  towering  super- 
addition,  the  Moral  and  Sj^iritual  Consciences,  indi- 
cating his  destination  beyond  the  ostensible,  the  mortal. 

To  the  heights  of  such  estimate  of  Nature  indeed 
ascending,  we  proceed  to  make  observations  for  our 
Vistas,  breathing  rarest  air.  What  is,  I  believe  called 
Idealism  seems  to  me  to  suggest,  (guarding  against  ex- 
travagance, and  ever  modified  even  by  its  opposite,)  the 
course  of  inquiry  and  desert  of  favor  for  our  New  World 
metaphysics,  their  foundation  of  and  in  literature,  giv- 
ing hue  to  all.^ 

*  The  culmination  and  fruit  of  literary  artistic  expression,  and 
its  final  fields  of  pleasure  for  the  human  soul,  are  in  Metaphysics, 
includinfT  the  mysteries  of  the  spiritual  world,  the  soul  itself,  and 
tlie  question  of  the  immortal  continuation  of  our  identity.  In  all 
ages,  the  mind  of  man  has  brought  up  here — and  always  \yill. 


Democratic  Vistas.  65 

The  elevating"  and  etlierealizing  ideas  of  the  Unkuovvn 
and  of  Unreality  must  be  brought  forward  with  au- 

Here,  at  least,  of  wliatever  race  or  era,  we  stand  on  comraou 
ground.  Applause,  too,  is  unanimous,  antique  or  modern.  Those 
authors  who  work  well  in  this  field — though  their  reward,  instead 
of  a  handsome  percentage,  or  royalty,  may  be  but  simply  the 
laurel-crown  of  the  victors  in  tlie  gi-eat  Olympic  games — will  be 
dearest  to  humanity,  and  their  Avorks,  however  esthetically  defec- 
tive, will  be  treasured  forever.  The  altitude  of  literature  and 
poetry  has  always  been  Religion — and  always  will  be.  The  In- 
dian Vedas,  the  Naijkas  of  Zoroaster,  The  Talmud  of  the  Jews, 
the  Old  Testament  also,  the  Gospel  of  Christ  and  his  disciples, 
Plato's  works,  the  Koran  of  Mohammed,  the  Edda  of  Snorro,  and 
so  on  toward  our  own  day,  to  Swedenborg,  and  to  the  invaluable 
contributions  of  Leibnitz,  Kant  and  Hegel, — these,  vnth.  such 
poems  only  in  which,  (while  singing  well  of  jiersons  and  events, 
of  the  passions  of  man,  and  the  shows  of  the  material  universe,) 
the  rehgious  tone,  the  consciousness  of  mystery,  the  recognition 
of  the  future,  of  the  unknown,  of  Deity,  over  and  under  all,  and 
of  the  divine  purpose,  are  never  absent,  but  indirectly  give  tone 
to  all — exhibit  literature's  real  heights  and  elevations,  towering 
up  like  the  great  mountains  of  the  earth. 

Standing  on  this  ground — the  last,  the  highest,  only  permanent 
ground — and  sternly  criticising,  from  it,  all  works,  either  of  the 
literary,  or  any  Art,  we  have  peremptorily  to  dismiss  every  pre- 
tensive  production,  however  fine  its  esthetic  or  intellectual  points, 
which  violates,  or  ignores,  or  even  does  not  celebrate,  the  central 
Divine  Idea  of  AH,  suffusing  imiverse,  of  eternal  trains  of  purpose, 
in  the  development,  by  however  slow  degrees,  of  the  physical, 
nroral,  and  spiritual  Kosmos.  I  say  he  has  studied,  meditated  to 
no  profit,  whatever  may  be  his  mere  erudition,  who  has  not  ab- 
sorbed this  simple  consciousness  and  faith.  It  is  not  entirely 
new — but  it  is  for  America  to  elaborate  it,  and  look  to  build  upon 
and  expand  from  it,  with  uncompromising  reliance.  Above  the 
doors  of  teaching  tlie  inscription  is  to  appear.  Though  little  or 
nothing  can  be  absolutely  known,  perceived,  except  from  a  point 
of  view  which  is  evanescent,  yet  we  know  at  least  one  perma- 
nency, that  Time  and  Space,  in  the  ^Yi\\  of  God,  fm-nish  successive 
chains,  completions  of  material  births  and  beginnings,  solve  all 
discrepancies,  fears  and  doubts,  and  eventually  fulfil  happiness — 
and  that  the  prophecy  of  those  births,  namely  Spiritual  results, 
throws  the  true  arch  over  all  teaching,  all  science.  The  local 
considerations  of  sin,  disease,  deformity,  ignorance,  death,  &c., 
and  their  measurement  by  superficial  mind,  and  ordinary  legisla- 
tion and  theology,  are  to  be  met  by  Science,  boldly  accepting, 
promulging  tliJs  faith,  and  planting  the  seeds  of  superber  laws — 
of  the  explication  of  the  physical  universe  through  the  spiritual — 
and  clearing  the  way  for  a  Religion,  sweet  and  unimpugnable 
alike  to  little  child  or  great  savan. 


66  Eeiiocratic  Vistas. 

thority,  as  they  are  the  legitimate  heirs  of  the  known, 
and  of  reahty,  and  at  least  as  great  as  their  parents. 
Fearless  of  scoffing,  and  of  the  ostent,  let  us  take  our 
stand,  our  ground,  and  never  desert  it,  to  confront  the 
growing  excess  and  arrogance  of  Eeahsm.  To  the  cry, 
now  victorious — the  cry  of  Sense,  science,  flesh,  in- 
comes, farms,  merchandise,  logic,  intellect,  demonstra- 
tions, solid  perpetuities,  buildings  of  brick  and  iron,  or 
even  the  facts  of  the  shows  of  trees,  earth,  rocks,  &c., 
fear  not  my  brethren,  my  sisters,  to  sound  out  with 
equally  determined  voice,  that  conviction  brooding 
within  tlie  recesses  of  every  envisioned  soul — Illusions ! 
appai'itions !  figments  all !  True,  we  must  not  condemn 
the  show,  neither  absolutely  deny  it,  for  the  indis25ensa- 
bility  of  its  meanings  ;  but  how  clearly  we  see  that, 
migrate  in  soul  to  'what  we  can  already  conceive  of  su- 
perior and  sj)iritual  points  of  view,  and,  palpable  as  it 
seems  under  jiresent  relations,  it  all  and  several  might, 
nay  certainly  would,  fall  apart  and  vanish. 

— I  hail  with  joy  the  oceanic,  variegated,  intense 
practical  energy,  the  demand  for  facts,  even  the  busi- 
ness materialism  of  the  current  age.  Our  States.  But 
wo  to  the  age  or  land  in  v/hich  these  things,  movements, 
stopping  at  themselves,  do  not  tend  to  ideas.  As  fuel 
to  fiame,  and  flame  to  the  heavens,  so  must  wealth, 
science,  materialism,  unerringly  feed  the  highest  mind, 
the  soul.  Infinitude  the  flight :  fathomless  the  mj'stery. 
Man,  so  diminutive,  dilates  beyond  the  sensible  uni- 
verse, competes  Vvith,  outcopes  Space  and  Time,  medi- 
tating even  one  great  idea.  Thus,  and  thus  only,  does 
a  human  being,  his  spirit,  ascend  above,  and  justify, 
objective  Nature,  which,  probably  nothing  in  itself,  is 
incredibly  and  divinely  serviceable,  indispensable,  real, 
here.  And  as  the  purport  of  objective  Nature  is  doubt- 
less folded,  hidden,  somewhere  here — As  somewhero 
here  is  what  this  globe  and  its  manifold  forms,  and  the 
light  of  day,  and  night's  darkness,  and  life  itself,  with 
all  its  experiences,  are  for — it  is  here  the  great  Litera- 
ture, especially  verse,  must  get  its  inspiration  and  throb- 
bing blood.     Then  may  WG  attain  to  a  j)oetry  worthy 


Democratic  Vistas.  67 

the  immortal  gouI  of  man,  and  which  while  absorbing 
materials,  and,  in  their  own  sense,  the  shows  of  Natiu-e, 
will,  above  all,  have,  both  directly  and  indirectly,  a  free- 
ing, liuidizing,  exjjanding,  religious  character,  exulting 
with  science,  fructifying  the  moral  elements,  and  stimu- 
lating aspirations,  and  meditations  on  the  unknown. 

The  jirocess,  so  far,  is  indirect  and  peculiar,  and 
though  it  may  be  suggested,  cannot  be  defined.  Ob- 
serving, rapport,'  and  with  intuition,  the  shows  and 
forms  presented  by  Nature,  the  sensuous  luxuriance, 
the  beautiful  in  li-sing  men  and  women,  the  actual  play 
of  passions,  in  history  and  life — and,  above  all,  from 
those  developments  either  in  Nature  or  human  person- 
ality in  which  power,  (dearest  of  all  to  the  sense  of  the 
artist,)  transacts  itself — Out  of  these,  and  seizing  what 
is  in  them,  the  poet,  the  esthetic  worker  in  any  field, 
by  the  divine  magic  of  his  genius,  projects  them,  theii* 
analogies,  by  curious  removes,  indirections,  in  Litera- 
ture and  Art.  (No  useless  attempt  to  repeat  the  mate- 
rial creation,  by  daguerreotyping  the  exact  likeness  by 
mortal  mental  means.)  This  is  the  image-making  fac- 
ulty, coping  with  material  creation,  and  rivaling,  almost 
triumphing  over  it.  This  alone,  when  all  the  other  jiarts 
of  a  specimen  of  literature  or  art  are  ready  and  waiting, 
can  breathe  into  it  the  breath  of  life,  and  endow  it  with 
Identity. 

"  The  true  qiiestion  to  ask,"  says  the  Librarian  of 
Congress  in  a  pajjer  read  before  the  Social  Science 
Convention  at  New  York,  October,  1869,  "The  true 
question  to  ask  respecting  a  book,  is.  Has  it  helped  any 
Jiuman  Soul?"  This  is  the  hint,  statement,  not  only  of 
the  great  Literatus,  his  book,  but  of  every  great  Artist. 

It  may  be  that  all  works  of  art  are  to  be  fii'st  tried  by 
their  art  qualities,  their  image-forming  talent,  and  their 
dramatic,  pictorial,  plot-constructing,  euphonious  and 
other  talents.  Then,  whenever  claiming  to  be  first-class 
works,  they  are  to  be  strictly  and  sternly  tried  by  their 
foundation  in,  and  radiation,  in  the  highest  sense,  and 
always  indirectly,  of  the  ethic  j^rinciples,  and  eligibility 
to  free,  arouse,  dilate. 

As  within  the  purposes  of  the  Kosmos,  and  vivifying 


G8  Demockatic  Vistas. 

all  meteorology,  and  all  the  congeries  of  the  mineral, 
vegetable  and  animal  worlds — all  the  physical  growth 
and  development  of  man,  and  all  the  history'  of  the  race 
in  poHtics,  rehgions,  wars,  &c.,  there  is  a  moral  purpose, 
a  visible  or  invisible  intention,  certainly  undex'lying  all^ 
its  results  and  proof  needing  to  be  patiently  waited  for — 
needing  intuition,  faith,  idiosyncrasy,  to  its  realization, 
which  many,  and  especially  the  intellectual,  do  not  have 
— so  in  the  product,  or  congeries  of  the  product,  of  the 
greatest  Literatus.  This  is  the  last,  profoundest  meas- 
ure and  test  of  a  first-class  literary  or  esthetic  achieve- 
ment, and  when  understood  and  put  in  foi'ce  must  fain, 
I  say,  lead  to  works,  books,  nobler  than  any  hitherto 
known.  Lo !  Nature,  (the  only  comj)lete,  actual  poem,) 
existing  calmly  in  the  di^'ine  scheme,  containing  all, 
content,  careless  of  the  criticisms  of  a  day,  or  these 
endless  and  wordy  chatterers.  And  lo!  to  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  soul,  the  permanent  Identity,  the 
thought,  the  something,  before  which  the  magnitude 
even  of  Democracy,  Ai't,  Literature,  &c.,  dwindles,  be- 
comes partial,  measurable — something  that  fully  satis- 
fies, (which  those  do  not.)  That  something  is  the  All, 
and  the  idea  of  All,  with  the  accompanying  idea  of 
Eternity,  and  of  itself,  the  Soul,  buoyant,  indestructi- 
ble, sailing  space  forever,  "^dsiting  every  region,  as  a 
ship  the  sea.  And  again  lo!  the  pulsations  in  all 
matter,  all  sjiirit,  throbbing  forever — the  eternal  beats, 
eternal  systole  and  diastole  of  life  in  things — where- 
from  I  feel  and  know  that  death  is  not  the  ending,  as 
was  thought,  but  rather  the  real  beginning — and  that 
nothing  ever  is  or  can  be  lost,  nor  ever  die,  nor  soul, 
nor  matter. 

— ^I  say  in  the  future  of  These  States  must  therefore 
arise  Poets  immenser  far,  and  make  great  poems  of 
Death.  The  poems  of  Life  are  great,  but  there  must 
be  the  poems  of  the  pui'ports  of  life,  not  only  in  itself, 
but  beyond  itself.  I  have  eulogized  Homer,  the  sacred 
bards  of  Jewry,  Eschylus,  Juvenal,  Shakespeare,  &c., 
and  ack'nowledged  their  inestimable  value.  But,  (with 
perhaps  the  exception,  in  some,  not  all  respects,  of  the 
second  mentioned,)  I  say  there  must,  for  future  and 


Democratic  Vistas.  69 

Democratic  purposes,  ajipear  j^oets,  (dare  I  to  si\j  so  ?) 
of  higher  class  even  than  any  of  those — poets  not  only 
possessed  of  the  religious  fire  and  abandon  of  Isaiah, 
luxuriant  in  the  epic  talent  of  Homer,  or  for  characters 
as  Shakespeare,  but  consistent  with  the  Hegelian  for- 
mulas, and  consistent  with  modern  science.  America 
needs,  and  the  world  needs,  a  class  of  bards  who  will, 
now  and  ever,  so  link  and  tally  the  rational  physical 
being  of  man,  with  the  ensembles  of  Time  and  Sj^ace, 
and  with  this  vast  and  multiform  show.  Nature,  sur- 
rounding him,  ever  tantahzing  him,  equally  a  part,  and 
yet  not  a  part  of  him,  as  to  essentially  harmonize,  satisfy, 
and  put  at  rest.  Faith,  very  old,  now  scared  away  by 
science,  must  be  restored,  brought  back,  by  the  same 
power  that  caused  her  departure — restorcLl  with  new 
sway,  deeper,  wider,  higher  than  ever.  Surely,  this  uni- 
versal ennui,  this  coward  fear,  this  shuddeiing  at  death, 
these  low,  degrading  views,  are  not  alwajs  to  rule  the 
spirit  pervading  future  society,  as  it  has  the  past,  and 
does  the  present.  What  the  Roman  Lucretius  sought: 
most  nobly,  yet  all  too  blindly,  negatively  to  do  for  his 
age  and  its  successors,  must  be  done  positively  by  some 
great  coming  Liter atus,  esx^ecially  Poet,  who,  while  re- 
maining fully  poet,  will  absorb  whatever  science  indi- 
cates, with  spiritualism,  and  out  of  them,  and  out  of 
his  own  genius,  will  compose  the  great  Poem  of  Death. 
Then  will  man  indeed  confront  Natm'e,  and  confront 
Time  and  Space,  both  with  science  and  con  amove,  and 
take  his  right  place,  prepared  for  life,  master  of  fortune 
and  misfortune.  And  then  that  which  was  long  wanted 
will  be  supplied,  and  the  ship  that  had  it  not  before  in 
all  her  voyages,  will  have  an  anchor. 

There  arc  stiU  other  standards,  suggestions,  for  pro- 
ducts of  high  literatuses.  That  which  really  balances 
and  conserves  the  social  and  political  world  is  not  so 
much  legislation,  police,  treaties,  and  dread  of  punish- 
ment, as  the  latent  eternal  intuitional  sense,  in  human- 
ity, of  fairness,  manliness,  decorum,  &c.  Indeed,  the 
perennial  regulation,  control  and  oversight,  by  self-sup- 
pliance,  is  sine  qua  non  to  Democracy ;  and  a  highest. 


70  Democratic  Vistas. 

widest  aim  of  Democratic  literature  may  well  l:)c  to 
bring  forth,  cultivate,  brace  and  strengthen  this  sense 
in  individuals  and  society.  A  strong  mastership  of  the 
general  inferior  self  by  the  superior  self,  is  to  be  aided, 
secured,  indirectly  but  surely,  by  the  literatus,  in  his 
works,  shaping,  for  individual  or  aggregate  Democracy, 
a  great  ^^assionate  Body,  in  and  along  with  v/hich  goes 
a  great  masterful  Spirit. 

And  still,  providing  for  contingencies,  I  fain  coufi-ont 
the  fact,  the  need  of  powerful  native  philosophs  and 
orators  and  bards,  These  States,  as  rallying  points  to 
come,  in  times  of  danger,  and  to  fend  off  ruin  and  de- 
fection. For  history  is  long,  long,  long.  Shift  and  turn 
the  combinations  of  the  statement  as  we  may,  the  prob- 
lem of  the  future  of  America  is  in  certain  respects  as 
dark  as  it  is  vast.  Pride,  competition,  segregation, 
vicious  Avilfulness,  and  license  beyond  example,  brood 
already  iijDon  us.  Unwieldy  and  immense,  who  shall 
hold  in  behemoth  ?  who  bridle  leviathan  ?  Flaunt  it  as 
we  choose,  athwart  and  over  the  roads  of  our  progi'ess 
loom  huge  uncertainty,  and  dreadful,  threatening  gloom. 
It  is  useless  to  deny  it  :  Democracy  grows  rankly  up  the 
thickest,  noxious,  deadliest  j)lants  and  fi'uits  of  all — 
brings  worse  and  worse  invaders— needs  newer,  larger, 
stronger,  keener  compensations  and  compellers. 

Our  lands,  embracing  so  much,  (embracing  indeed 
the  whole,  rejecting  none,)  hold  in  their  breast  that 
flame  also,  capable  of  consuming  themselves,  consuming 
us  all.  Short  as  the  span  of  our  national  life  has  been, 
already  have  death  and  downfall  crowded  close  upon 
us — and  wiU  again  crowd  close,  no  doubt,  even  if 
warded  off.  Ages  to  come  may  never  know,  but  I 
know,  how  narrowly,  during  the  late  Secession  war — 
and  more  than  once,  and  more  than  twice  or  thrice — 
our  Nationality,  (wherein  bound  up,  as  in  a  ship  in  a 
storm,  depended,  and  yet  depend,  all  our  best  life,  all 
hope,  all  value,)  just  grazed,  just  by  a  hair  escaped  de- 
struction. Alas!  to  think  of  them!  the  agony  and 
bloody  sweat  of  certain  of  those  hours!  those  crviel, 
sharp,  suspended  crises ! 


Democratic  Vistas.  71 

Even  to-day,  amid  these  wbirls,  incredible  flippancy, 
the  blind  fury  of  parties,  infidelity,  entire  lack  of  first- 
clans  captains  and  leaders,  added  to  the  plentiful  mean- 
ness and  vulgarity  of  the  ostensible  masses— that  prob- 
lem, the  Labor  Question,  beginning-  to  open  like  a 
yawning  gulf,  rapidly  widening  every  year  * — what 
prospect  have  we  ?  We  sail  a  dangerous  sea  of  seeth- 
ing currents,  cross  and  under-currents,  vortices — all  so 
dark,  untried — aiid  whither  shall  we  turn  ? 

It  seems  as  if  the  Almighty  had  sjDread  before  this 
Nation  charts  of  imperial  destinies,  dazzling  as  the  sun, 
yet  with  lines  of  blood,  and  many  a  deep  intestine  diffi- 
culty, and  human  aggregate  of  cankerous  imperfection, 
— sa;)dug,  Lo !  the  roads,  the  only  plans  of  development, 

*  The  Labor  Question. — The  immense  problem  of  the  rela- 
tion, adjustment,  conflict,  between  Labor  and  its  status  and  pay, 
on  the  one  side,  and  the  Capital  of  employers  on  the  other  side — 
looming  up  over  These  States  like  an  ominous,  limitless,  murky 
cloud,  perhaps  before  long  to  overshadow  us  all ; — the  many  thou- 
sands of  decent  working-people,  through  the  cities  and  elsewhere, 
trying  to  keep  up  a  good  appearance,  but  living  by  daily  toil, 
from  hand  to  mouth,  with  nothing  ahead,  and  no  owned  homes — 
the  increasing  aggregation  of  capital  in  the  hands  of  a  fcAV — the 
chaotic  confusion  of  labor  in  the  Southern  States,  consequent  on 
the  abrogation  of  slavery — the  Asiatic  immigration  on  our  Pacific 
side — the  advent  of  new  machinery,  dispensing  more  and  more 
■with  hand -work — the  growing,  alarming  spectacle  of  countless 
squads  of  vagabond  children,  roaming  everywhere  the  streets  and 
wharves  of  the  great  cities,  getting  trained  for  thievery  and  pros- 
titution— the  hideousness  and  squalor  of  certain  quarters  of  the 
cities — the  advent  of  late  years,  and  increasing  frequency,  of  these 
pompous,  nauseous,  outside  shows  of  vulgar  wealth — (What  a 
chance  for  a  nev/  Juvenal !) — wealth  acquired  perhaps  by  some 
quack,  some  measureless  financial  rogue,  triply  brazen  in  impu- 
dence, only  shielding  himself  by  his  money  from  a  shaved  head, 
a  striped  dress,  and  a  felon's  cell ; — and  then,  below  all,  the  plausi- 
ble, sugar-coated,  but  abnormal  and  sooner  or  later  inevitably 
ruinous  delusion  and  loss,  of  our  system  of  inflated  paper-money 
currency,  (cause  of  all  conceivable  swindles,  false  standards  of 
value,  and  principal  breeder  and  bottom  of  these  enormous  for- 
tunes for  the  few,  and  of  poverty  for  the  million") — wich  that  other 
plausible  and  sugar-coated  delusion,  the  theory  and  ]iractice  of  a 
protective  tariff",  still  clung  to  by  many  ; — such,  with  plenty  more, 
stretching  themselves  through  many  a  long  year,  for  solution, 
stand  as  huge  impedimenta  of  America's  progress. 


72  Democratic  Vistas. 

long-,  and  vuried  with  all  terrible  balks  and  ebullitions. 
You  said  in  your  soul,  I  will  be  empire  of  emiDires,  OTer- 
shadowing  all  else,  past  and  present,  putting  tbe  his- 
tory of  old-world  d;y'nasties,  conquests,  behind  me,  as 
of  no  account — making  a  new  history,  the  history  of 
Democracy,  making  old  history  a  dwarf — I  alone  in- 
augurating largeness,  culminating  Time.  If  these,  O 
lands  of  America,  are  indeed  the  prizes,  the  determina- 
tions of  your  Soul,  be  it  so.  But  behold  the  cost,  and 
already  specimens  of  the  cost.  Behold,  the  anguish  of 
suspense,  existence  itself  wavering  in  the  balance,  un- 
certain whether  to  rise  or  fall ;  ah'eady,  close  behind 
yoii  or  around  you,  thick  winrows  of  corpses  on  battle- 
fields, countless  maimed  and  sick  in  hosjDitals,  treachery 
among  Generals,  folly  in  the  Executive  and  Legislative 
departments,  schemers,  thieves  everywhere — cant,  cre- 
dulity, make-believe  everywhere.  Thought  you  great- 
ness was  to  ripen  for  you,  like  a  pear  ?  If  you  would 
have  gTcatness,  know  that  you  must  conquer  it  through 
ages,  centuries — must  pay  for  it  with  a  proportionate 
price  For  you  too,  as  for  all  lands,  the  struggle,  the 
traitor,  the  wily  person  in  office,  scrofulous  wealth,  the 
surfeit  of  prosperity,  the  demonism  of  greed,  the  hell 
ol  passion,  the  decay  of  faith,  the  long  postponement, 
the  fossil-like  lethargy,  the  ceaseless  need  of  revolu- 
tions, prophets,  thunderstorms,  deaths,  bii'ths,  new  pro- 
jections and  invigorations  of  ideas  and  men. 

Yet  I  have  dreamed,  merged  in  that  hidden-tangled 
]Droblem  of  our  fate,  whose  long  unraveling  stretches 
mysteriously  through  time — di'eamed  cut,  jDortrayed, 
hinted  already — a  little  or  a  larger  Band — a  band  of 
brave  and  true,  unprecedented  yet — armed  and  equipt 
at  every  point — the  members  separated,  it  may  be,  by 
different  dates  and  States,  or  south,  or  north,  or  east, 
or  west — Pacific  or  Atlantic — a  j^ear,  a  century  here, 
and  other  centiu'ies  there — ^but  always  one,  compact  in 
Soul,  conscience-conseiwing,  God-inculcating,  inspired 
achievers,  not  only  in  Literature,  the  greatest  art,  but 
achievers  in  all  art — a  new,  undying  order,  d;yTiasty, 
from  age  to  age  transmitted — a  band,  a  class,  at  least 


Democratic  Vistas.  73 

as  fit  to  cope  with  current  years,  our  dangers,  needs,  as 
those  who,  for  their  times,  so  long,  so  well,  in  armor 
or  in  cowl,  upheld,  and  made  illustrious,  the  Feudal, 
priestly  world.  To  ofi'set  Chivalry,  indeed,  those  van- 
ished countless  knights,  and  the  old  altars,  abbeys,  all 
their  priests,  ages  and  strings  of  ages,  a  knightlier  and 
more  sacred  cause  to-day  demands,  and  shall  supply,  in 
a  New  World,  to  larger,  grander  work,  more  than  the 
counterpart  and  tally  of  them. 

Arrived  nov/,  definitely,  at  an  apex  for  These  Vistas, 
I  confess  that  the  promulgation  and  belief  in  such  a 
class  or  institution — a  new  and  greater  Literatus  Order 
— its  possibility,  (naj^  certainty,)  underlies  these  entii'c 
speculations — and  that  the  rest,  the  other  parts,  as 
superstructures,  are  all  founded  upon  it.  It  really 
seems  to  me  the  condition,  not  only  of  our  future  na- 
tional development,  but  of  our  perpetuation.  In  the 
highly  artificial  and  materialistic  bases  of  modern  civiK- 
zation,  with  the  corresponding  arrangements  and 
methods  of  living,  the  force-infusion  of  intellect  alone, 
the  depraving  influences  of  riches  just  as  much  as  pov- 
erty, the  absence  of  all  high  ideals  in  character — wdth 
the  long  scries  of  tendencies,  shapings,  which  few  are 
strong  enough  to  resist,  and  which  now  seem,  with 
steam-engine  speed,  to  be  everywhere  turning  out  the 
generations  of  humanity  like  uniform  iron  castings — all 
of  which,  as  compared  with  the  Feudal  ages,  we  can 
yet  do  nothing  better  than  accept,  make  the  best  of, 
and  even  welcome,  upon  the  whole,  for  their  oceanic 
practical  grandeur,  and  their  restless  vfholesale  knead- 
ing of  the  masses — I  say  of  all  this  tremendous  and 
dominant  play  of  solely  materialistic  bearings  upon 
current  life  in  the  United  States,  with  the  results  as 
ah-eady  seen,  accumulating,  and  reaching  far  into  the 
future,  that  they  must  either  be  confronted  and  met  by 
at  least  an  equally  subtle  and  tremendous  force-infusion 
for  purposes  of  Spiritualization,  for  the  pure  conscience, 
for  genuine  esthetics,  and  for  absolute  and  primal  Man- 
liness and  Womanhness — or  else  our  modern  civiliza- 
tion, with  all  its  improvements,  is  in  vain,  and  we  are 


74  Democeatic  Vistas. 

on  tlie  road  to  a  destiny,  a  status,  equivalent,  in  (Lis 
real  world,  to  that  of  the  fabled  damned. 

— To  furnish,  therefore,  something  like  escape  and 
foil  and  remedy — to  restrain,  with  gentle  but  sufficient 
hand,  the  terrors  of  materialistic,  intellectual,  and  demo- 
cratic civilization — to  ascend  to  more  ethereal,  jei  just 
as  real,  atmospheres — to  invoke  and  set  forth  inefi'ablc 
portraits  of  Personal  Perfection,  (the  true,  final  aim  of 
all,)  I  say  my  eyes  are  fain  to  behold,  though  with 
straining  sight — and  my  spirit  to  prophecy — far  down 
the  vistas  of  These  States,  that  Order,  Class,  superbcr, 
far  more  efficient  than  any  hitherto,  arising.  I  say  we 
must  enlarge  and  entirely  recast  the  theory  of  noble 
authorship,  and  conceive  and  put  up  as  cur  model,  a 
Literatus — grouj^s,  series  of  Literatuscs— not  only  con- 
sistent with  modern  science,  practical,  political,  full  of 
the  arts,  of  highest  erudition — not  only  possessed  by, 
and  possessors  of.  Democracy  even — but  with  the  equal 
of  the  burning  fire  and  extasy  of  Conscience,  which  have 
brought  down  to  us,  over  and  through  the  centimes, 
that  chain  of  old  unparalleled  Judean  prophets,  with 
their  flashes  cf  power,  wisdom,  and  poetic  beauty,  law- 
less as  lightning,  iiadefinite — yet  power,  wisdom,  beauty, 
above  all  mere  art,  and  surely,  in  some  resjjects,  above 
all  else  wo  know  of  mere  literature. 

Prospectiiig  thus  the  coming  unsped  days,  and  that 
new  Order  in  them — marking  the  endless  train  of  exer- 
cise, development,  unwind,  in  Nation  as  in  man,  vrhich 
life  is  for — we  now  proceed  to  note,  as  on  the  hopeful 
terraces  or  platforms  of  our  history,  to  be  enacted,  not 
only  amid  peaceful  growth,  but  amid  all  perturbations, 
end  after  not  a  few  dej)artures,  filling  the  vistas  then, 
certain  most  coveted,  stately  arrivals. 

— A  few  years,  and  there  will  be  an  appropriate  na- 
tive grand  Opera,  the  lusty  and  wide-lipp'd  offspring  of 
Italian  methods.  Yet  it  will  be  no  mere  imitation,  ncr 
follow  precedents,  any  more  than  Natiu-e  follows  prece- 
dents. Vast  oval  halls  will  be  constructed,  on  acoustic 
principles,  in  cities,  where  companies  of  musicians  will 
perform  lyrical  pieces,  born   to   the  people  of  These 


Democratic  Vistas.  75 

States  ;  and  the  people  will  mate  perfect  music  a  part 
of  their  live?.  Every  phase,  every  trade  ■will  have  its 
songs,  beautifying  those  trades.  Men  on  the  land  will 
have  theirs,  and  men  on  the  water  theirs.  Who  novv^  is 
ready  to  begin  that  work  for  America,  of  composing 
music  fit  for  us — songs,  choruses,  symphonies,  cjieras, 
oi-atorios,  fully  identified  with  the  body  and  soul  of  The 
States  ?  music  complete  in  all  its  appointments,  but  in 
some  fresh,  courageous,  melodious,  undeniable  styles — 
as  all  that  is  ever  to  permanently  satisfy  us  must  be. 
The  composers  to  make  such  music  are  to  leara  every- 
thing that  can  bo  possibly  learned  in  the  schools  and 
traditions  of  their  art,  and  then  calmly  dismiss  all  tradi- 
tions from  them. 

Also,  a  great  breed  of  orators  will  one  day  spread 
over  The  United  States,  and  be  continued.  Blessed  are 
the  people  where,  (the  nation's  Unity  and  Identity  prc- 
S3rved  at  all  hazards,)  strong  emergencies,  throes,  occur. 
Strong  emergencies  will  continually  occur  in  America, 
and  will  be  provided  for.  Such  orators  are  wanted  ay 
have  never  yet  been  heard  upon  the  earth.  What  speci- 
men have  we  had  where  even  the  physicfil  capacities  of 
the  voice  have  been  fully  accomplished  ?  I  think  there 
would  be  in  the  human  voice,  thoroughly  practised  and 
brought  out,  more  seductive  pathos  than  in  any  organ 
or  any  orchestra  of  stringed  instruments,  and  a  ring 
more  impressive  than  that  of  artillery. 

Also,  in  a  few  years,  there  will  be,  in  the  cities  of 
These  States,  immense  Museums,  with  suites  of  halls, 
containing  samples  and  illustrations  from  all  the  places 
and  peoples  of  the  earth,  old  and  new.  In  these  halls, 
in  the  presence  of  these  illustrations,  the  noblest  savans 
will  deliver  lectures  to  thousands  of  young  men  and 
women,  on  history,  natural  history,  the  sciences,  &e. 
History  itself  will  get  released  from  being  that  false 
and  distant  thing,  that  fetish  it  has  been.  It  will  be- 
come a  friend,  a  venerable  teacher,  a  live  being,  with 
hands,  voice,  presence.  It  will  be  disgTaceful  to  a 
young  person  not  to  know  chronology,  geography, 
poems,  heroes,  deeds,  and  all  the  former  nations,  and 


76  Demockatic  Vistas. 

present  ones  also — and  it  will  be  disgraceful  in  a  teaclier 
to  teacli  any  less  or  more  than  be  believes. 

— We  see,  fore-indicated,  amid  these  prospects  and 
ho^Des,  new  law-forces  of  spoken  and  written  language 
— not  merely  the  pedagogue-forms,  correct,  regular, 
familiar  with  precedents,  made  for  matters  of.  outside 
propriety,  fine  words,  thoughts  definitely  told  out — but 
a  language  fanned  by  the  breath  of  Nature,  which  leaps 
overhead,  cares  mostly  for  impetus  and  effects,  and  for 
what  it  plants  and  invigorates  to  grow — tallies  life  and 
character,  and  seldomer  tells  a  thing  than  suggests  or 
necessitates  it.  In  fact,  a  new  theory  of  literary  compo- 
sition for  imaginative  works  of  the  very  first  class,  and 
especially  for  highest  poems,  is  the  sole  course  open  to 
These  States. 

Books  are  to  be  called  foi',  and  supplied,  on  the  as- 
sumption that  the  process  of  reading  is  not  a  half-sleep, 
but,  in  highest  sense,  an  exercise,  a  eynmast's  struggle  ; 
that  the  reader  is  to  do  something  for  himself,  must  be 
on  the  alert,  must  himself  or  herself  construct  indeed 
the  poem,  argument,  history,  metaphysical  essay — the 
text  furnishing  the  hints,  the  clue,  the  start  or  frame- 
work. Not  the  book  needs  so  much  to  be  the  complete 
thing,  but  the  reader  of  the  book  does.  That  were  to 
make  a  nation  of  supple  and  athletic  minds,  well- 
trained,  intuitive,  used  to  depend  on  themselves,  and 
not  on  a  few  coteries  of  writers. 

— Investigating  here,  we  see,  not  that  it  is  a  little 
thing  we  have,  in  having  the  bequeathed  hbraries, 
countless  shelves  of  volumes,  records,  &c. ;  yet  how 
serious  the  danger,  depending  entirely  on  them,  of  the 
bloodless  vein,  the  nerveless  arm,  the  false  application, 
at  second  or  third  hand.  After  all,  we  see  Life,  not 
bred,  (at  least  in  its  more  modern  and  essential  parts,) 
in  those  great  old  Libraries,  nor  America  nor  Democ- 
racy favored  nor  applauded  there.  "We  see  that  the 
real  interest  of  this  People  of  ours  in  the  Theology, 
History,  Poetr}'',  Politics,  and  Personal  Models  of  the 
past,  (of  British  islands,  for  instance,  and  indeed  all 
the  past,)  is  not  necessarily  to  mould  oui'selves  or  our 
literature  upon  them,  but  to  attain  fuller,  mere  definite 


Democratic  Vistas.  77 

comparisons,  warnings,  and  tlie  insight  to  ourselves, 
our  own  present,  and  our  ov/n  far  grander,  different, 
future  history.  Religion,  social  customs,  &c. 

— We  see  that  almost  everything  that  has  been 
■written,  sung,  or  stated,  of  old,  with  reference  to  hu- 
manity under  the  Feudal  and  Oriental  institutes,  reli- 
gions, and  for  otiier  lands,  needs  to  be  re-written,  re- 
sung,  re-stated,  in  terms  consistent  with  the  institution 
of  These  States,  and  to  come  in  range  and  obedient 
uniformity  with  them. 

We  see,  as  in  the  universes  of  the  material  Kosmos, 
after  meteorological,  vegetable,  and  animal  cycles,  man 
at  last  arises,  born  through  them,  to  prove  them,  con- 
centrate them,  to  turn  ujdou  them  v/ith  wonder  and 
love — to  command  them,  adorn  them,  and  carry  them 
upward  into  superior  realms — so  out  of  the  series  of 
the  preceding  social  and  political  universes,  now  arise 
These  States — their  main  purport  being  not  in  the  new- 
ness and  importance  of  their  politics  or  inventions,  but 
in  new,  grander,  more  advanced  Religions,  Literatures, 
and  Art. 

We  see  that  while  many  were  supi^osing  things  estab- 
lished and  completed,  really  the  grandest  things  always 
remain  ;  and  discover  that  the  work  of  the  New  World 
is  not  ended,  but  only  fairly  begTin. 

We  see  our  land,  America,  her  Literature,  Esthetics, 
&c.,  as,  substantially,  the  getting  in  form,  or  effusement 
and  statement,  of  deepest  basic  elements  and  loftiest 
final  meanings,  of  History  and  Man — and  the  portrayal, 
(under  the  eternal  laws  and  conditions  of  beauty,)  of 
our  own  physiognomy,  the  subjective  tie  and  expression 
of  the  objective,  as  from  our  own  combination,  continu- 
ation and  points  of  view — and  the  deposit  and  record  of 
the  national  mentality,  character,  appeals,  heroism, 
wars,  and  even  liberties — where  these,  and  all,  culmi- 
nate in  native  formulation,  to  be  perpetuated  ; — and 
not  having  which  native,  first-class  formulatiou,  she 
will  flounder  about,  and  her  other,  however  imposing, 
eminent  greatness,  prove  merely  a  passing  gleam  ;  but 
truly  having  which,  she  will  understand  herself,  live 
nobly,  nobly  contribute,  emanate,  and,  swinging,  poised 


78  Demcciiatic  Vistas. 

safely  on  herself,  illumined  and  illuming,  become  a  full- 
formed  world,  and  diyine  Mother  not  only  of  material 
but  spiritual  worlds,  in  ceaseless  succession  througli 
Time. 

Finally,  we  have  to  admit,  we  see,  even  to-day,  an^l 
in  all  these  things,  the  born  Democratic  taste  and  will 
of  The  United  States,  regardless  of  precedent,  or  of  any 
authority  but  their  own,  beginning  to  arrive,  seeking 
place — which,  in  due  time,  they  will  fully  occupy.  At 
lii'st,  of  course,  under  current  prevalences  of  theology', 
conventions,  criticism,  &c.,  all  appears  impracticable — 
takes  chances  to  be  denied  and  misunderstood.  There- 
with, of  course,  miu'murers,  jrazzled  persons,  supercil- 
ious inquirers,  (with  a  mighty  stir  and  noise  among 
these  windy  little  gentlemen  that  swarm  in  literatiu'e, 
in  the  magazines.)  But  America,  advancing  steadily, 
evil  as  well  as  good,  penetrating  deep,  without  one 
thought  of  retraction,  ascending,  expanding,  keeps  her 
course,  hundreds,  thousands  of  years. 


GENERAL    NOTES 


"  SoCiETV." — I  have  myself  little  or  no  laopo  from  T/liat  is 
teclinically  called  "  Society  "  in  our  American  cities.  New  York, 
of  wliicli  place  I  have  spoken  so  sharply,  still  promises  something, 
in  time,  out  of  its  tremendous  and  varied  materials,  with  a  certain 
superiority  of  intiiitions,  and  the  advantage  of  constant  agitation, 
and  ever  new  and  rapid  dealings  of  the  cards.  Of  Boston,  with 
its  circles  of  social  mummies,  swathed  in  cerements  harder  than 
brass — its  bloodless  religion,  (Unitarianism,)  its  complacent  vanity 
of  scientisni  and  literature,  lots  of  grammatical  correctness,  mere 
knowledge,  (always  wearisome,  in  itself) — its  zealous  abstractions, 
ghosts  of  reforms — I  should  say,  (ever  admitting  its  business 
powers,  its  sharp,  almost  demoniac,  intellect,  and  no  lack,  in  its 
own  way,  of  courage  and  generosity) — there  is.  at  present,  little  of 
cheering,  satistjdng  sign.  In  the  West,  California,  &c,,  "  society  " 
is  yet  unfoi'med,  peurile,  seemingly  unconscious  of  anything  above 
a  driving  business,  or  to  liberally  spend  the  money  made  by  it  in 
the  usual  rounds  and  shows. 

Then  there  is,  to  the  humorous  observer  of  American  attempts 
at  fashion,  according  to  the  models  of  foreign  courts  and  saloons, 
quite  a  comic  side — particularly  ^■isible  at  Washington  City, — a 
sort  of  high  life  below  stairs  business.  As  if  any  farce  could  be 
funnier,  for  instance,  than  the  scenes  of  the  crowds,  winter  nights, 
meandering  around  our  Presidents  and  their  wives,  Cabinet 
ofBcers,  western  or  other  Senators,  Eepresentatives,  &c.;  born  of 
good  laboring,  mechani?,  or  fanner  stock  and  antecedents,  attempt- 
ing those  full-dress  receptions,  finesse  of  parlors,  foreign  ceremo- 
nies, etiquettes,  &c. 

Indeed,  considered  with  any  sense  of  propriety,  or  any  sense  at 
all,  the  whole  of  this  illy-played  fashionable  ]ilay  and  display, 
with  their  absorption  of  the  best  part  of  our  wealthier  citizens' 
time,  money,  energies,  &c.,  is  ridiculously  out  of  place  in  the 
United  States.  As  if  our  proper  man  and  woman,  (far,  far  greater 
■words  than  "  gentleman  "  and  "  lady,")  could  still  fail  to  see,  and 
presently  achieve,  not  this  spectral  business,  but  something  truly 
noble,  active,  sane,  American — by  modes,  perfections  of  character, 
manners,  costiunes,  social  relations,  &c.,  adjusted  to  standards^  far, 
far  diflforent  from  those ! 


80  DeivIocratic  Vistas. 

— Eminent  and  liberal  foreigners,  Britisli  or  continental,  must 
at  times  have  their  faith  fearfully  tried  by  what  they  see  of  our 
Nev/  World  personalities.  The  shallowest  and  least  Ameiicau 
persons  seem  surest  to  push  abroad  and  call  without  fail  on  well- 
known  foreigners,  who  are  doubtless  affected  with  indescribable 
qualms  by  these  queer  ones.  Then,  more  than  half  of  our  authors 
and  writers  evidently  think  it  a  great  thing  to  be  "  aristocratic," 
and  sneer  at  progress,  democracy,  revolution,  &c.  If  some  inter- 
national literary  Snobs'  Gallery  were  established,  it  is  certain  that 
America  could  contribute  at  least  her  fidl  share  of  the  portraits, 
and  some  very  distinguished  ones.  Observe  that  the  most  impu- 
dent slanders,  low  insults,  &c.,  on  the  great  revolutionary  authors, 
leaders,  poets,  &c.,  of  Europe,  have  their  origin  and  main  circula 
tion  in  certain  circles  here.  The  treatment  of  Victor  Hugo  living, 
and  Byron  dead,  are  samples.  Both  deserving  so  well  of  America ; 
and  both  persistently  attempted  to  be  soiled  here  by  unclean  birds, 
male  and  female. 

— Meanwhile,  I  must  still  offset  the  like  of  the  foregcing,  and 
all  it  infers,  by  the  recognition  of  the  fact,  that  while  the  surfaces 
of  current  society  here  show  so  much  that  is  dismal,  noisome  and 
vapory,  there  are,  beyond  question,  inexhaustible  sui)p]ies,  as  of 
true  gold  ore,  in  the  mines  of  America's  general  humanity.  Let 
us,  not  ignoring  the  dross,  give  fit  stress  to  these  precious,  im- 
mortal values  also.  Let  it  be  distinctly  admitted,  that — whatever 
may  be  said  of  our  fashionable  society,  and  of  any  foid  fractions 
and  episodes — only  here  in  America,  out  of  the  long  history,  and 
manifold  presentations  of  the  ages,  has  at  last  arisen,  and  now 
stands,  what  never  before  took  positive  fonu  and  sway,  The 
People — and  that,  viewed  en-masse,  and  while  fully  acknowl- 
edging deficiencies,  dangers,  faults,  this  People,  inchoate,  latent, 
not  yet  come  to  majority,  nor  to  its  own  religious,  literary  or 
esthetic  expression,  yet  affords,  to-day,  an  exultant  justification  of 
aJl  the  faith,  all  the  hopes  and  ]irayers  and  proyjliecies  of  good 
men  through  the  past — the  stablest,  solidest-based  government 
of  the  world — the  most  assured  in  a  future — the  beaniing  Pharos 
to  whose  perennial  light  all  earnest  eyes,  the  world  over,  are 
tending — And  that  already,  in  and  from  it,  the  Democratic  prin- 
ciple, having  been  mortally  tried  by  severest  tests,  fatalities,  of 
war  and  peace,  now  issues  from  the  trial,  unharmed,  trebly-in- 
vigorated, perhaps  to  commence  forthwith  its  finally  triumphant 
march  around  the  globe. 

British  Literature. — To  avoid  mistake,  I  would  say  that  I 
not  only  commend  the  study  of  this  literature,  but  wish  our 
sources  of  supply  and  comparison  vastly  enlarged.  American 
students  may  well  derive  from  all  former  lands — from  forenoon 
Greece  and  Eome,  down  to  the  perturbed  medieval  times,  the 
Crusades,  and  so  to  Italy,  the  German  intellect — all  the  older  lit- 
eratures, and  all  the  newer  ones — from  witty  and  warlike  France, 
and  markedly,  and  in  many  ways,  and  at  many  different  periods, 


Genekal  Notes.  81 

from  tlie  enterprise  and  soul  of  the  great  Spanisli  race — bearing 
ourselves  always  courteous,  always  deferential,  indebted  beyond 
measure  to  the  mother-world,  to  all  its  nations  dead,  as  all  its  na- 
tions living — the  offspring,  this  America  of  ours,  the  Daughter, 
not  by  any  means  of  the  Sritish  isles  exclusively,  but  of  the  Con- 
tinent, and  all  continents.  Indeed,  it  is  time  we  shoiUd  realize 
and  fully  fructify  those  germs  we  also  hold  from  Italy,  France, 
Spain,  especially  in  the  best  imaginative  productions  of  those 
lauds,  which  are,  in  many  ways,  loftier  and  subtler  than  the  Eng- 
lish, or  British,  and  indispensable  to  complete  our  service,  propor- 
tions, education,  reminiscences,  &c The  British  element  These 

States  hold,  and  have  always  held,  enormously  beyond  its  fit  pro- 
portions. I  have  already  spoken  of  Shakespeare.  Ho  seems  to 
me  of  astral  genius,  first  class,  entirely  fit  for  feudalism.  His 
contributions,  especially  to  the  literatiire  of  the  passions,  are  im- 
mense, forever  dear  to  humanitj — and  his  name  is  always  to  be 
reverenced  in  America.  But  there  is  much  in  him  that  is  offen- 
sive to  Democracy.  He  is  not  only  the  tally  of  Feudalism,  but  I 
should  say  Shakespeare  is  incarnated,  uncompromising  Feudal- 
ism, in  literature.  Then  one  seems  to  detect  something  in  him — 
I  hardly  know  how  to  describe  it — even  amid  the  dazzle  of  his 
genius;  and,  in  inferior  manifestations,  it  is  found  in  nearly  all 
leading  British  authors.  (Perhaps  we  will  have  to  import  the 
words  Snob,  Snobbish,  &c.,  after  all.)  While  of  the  great  poems 
of  Asian  antiquity,  the  Indian  epics,  the  Book  of  Job,  the  Ionian 
Iliad,  the  uusurpassedly  simple,  loving,  perfect  idyls  of  the  life 
and  death  of  Christ,  in  the  New  Testament,  (indeed  Homer  and 
the  Biblical  utterances  intertwine  familiarly  with  us,  in  the  main,) 
and  along  down,  of  most  of  the  characteristic  imaginative  or  ro- 
mantic relics  of  the  continent,  as  the  Cid,  Cervantes  Don  Quixote, 
&c.,  I  should  say  they  substantially  adjust  themselves  to  us,  and, 
far  off  as  they  are,  accord  curiously  %^ith  our  bed  and  board,  to- 
day, in  1870,  in  Brooklj-n,  Washington,  Canada,  Ohio,  Texas, 
California — and  with  our  notions,  both  of  seriousness  and  of  fun, 
and  our  standards  of  heroism,  manliness,  and  even  the  Democratic 
requirements — those  requirements  are  not  only  not  fulfilled  in  the 
Shakesperean  productions,  bitt  are  insulted  on  every  page. 

I  add  that — while  England  is  among  the  greatest  of  lands  in 
political  freedom,  or  the  idea  of  it,  and  in  stalwart  personal  char- 
acter, &c. — the  spirit  of  English  literature  is  not  great,  at  least  is 
not  greatest — and  its  products  are  no  models  for  us.  With  the 
exception  of  Shakespeare,  there  is  no  first-class  genius,  or  ap- 
proaching to  first-class,  in  that  literature — which,  with  a  truly 
vast  amount  of  value,  and  of  artificial  beauty,  (largely  from  the 
classics,)  is  almost  always  material,  sensual,  not  spiritual — almost 
always  congests,  makes  plethoric,  not  frees,  expands,  dilates — is 
cold,  anti-Democratic,  loves  to  be  sluggish  and  stately,  and  shows 
much  of  that  characteristic  of  vulgar  persons,  the  dread  of  saying 
or  doing  something  not  at  all  improper  in  itself,  but  unconven- 
tional, and  that  may  be  laughed  at.     In  its  best,  the  sombre  per- 


82  Democe.vtio  Vkjtas. 

vades  it ; — it  is  moody,  melancholy,  aud,  to  give  it  its  due,  ex- 
presses, in  cliaractcrs  and  plots,  those  qualities,  in  an  unrivaled 
nmuner.  Yet  not  as  the  black  thunderstorms,  and  in  great  nor- 
mal, crashing  passions,  as  of  the  Greek  dramatists — clearing  the 
air,  refreshing  afterward,  bracing  with  power ;  but  as  in  Hamlet, 
moping,  sick,  uncertain,  and  leaving  ever  after  a  secret  taste  for 

the  blues,  the  morbid  fascination,  the  luxury  of  wo (I  cannot 

dismiss  English,  or  British  imaginative  literature  without  the 
cheerful  name  of  Walter  Scott.  In  my  opinion  he  deserves  to 
stand  next  to  Shakespeare.  Both  are,  in  their  best  and  absolute 
quality,  continental,  not  British — both  teeming,  luxuriant,  true  to 
their  lands  and  origin,  namely  feudality,  yet  ascending  into  uni- 
versalism.  Then,  I  should  say,  both  deserve  to  be  finally  consid- 
ered and  construed  as  shining  suns,  whom  it  Avcre  ungracious  to 
pick  spots  upon.) 

I  strongly  recommend  all  the  young  men  and  young  women  of 
tli3  United  States  to  whom  it  may  be  eligible,  to  overhaul  the 
well-freighted  fleets,  the  literatures  of  Italy,  Spain,  France,  Ger- 
many, so  full  of  those  elements  of  freedom,  self  possession,  gay- 
lieartedncss,  subtlety,  dilation,  needed  in  preparations  for  the 
future  of  The  States.  I  only  wish  wo  coiild  have  really  good 
translations.  I  rejoice  at  the  feeling  for  Oriental  researches  and 
poetry,  and  hopo  it  will  go  on. 

The  Late  WjOI.— The  Secession  War  in  tlie  United  States 
appears  to  me  as  the  last  great  material  and  military  outcro])ping 
of  the  Feudal  spirit,  in  our  N(>w  World  history,  society,  &c. 
Though  it  Avas  not  certain,  hardly  probable,  that  the  effort  for 
founding  a  Slave-Holding  power,  by  breaking  up  the  Union, 
should  be  successful,  it  Avas  urged  on  by  indomitable  passion, 
pride  and  will.  The  signal  doAvnfall  cf  this  effort,  the  abolition 
of  Slavery,  and  the  extirpation  of  the  Slaveholding  Class,  (cut 
out  and  thrown  away  like  a  tumor  by  surgical  operation,)  makes 
incomparably  the  longest  advance  for  Radical  Democracy,  utterly 
removing  its  only  really  dangerous  impediment,  and  insuring  its 
progress  in  the  United  States — and  thence,  of  course,  over  tho 

world (Our  immediate  years  witness  the  solution  of  three  vast, 

life-threatening  calculi,  in  different  parts  of  the  world — the  removal 
of  serfdom  in  Russia,  slavery  in  the  United  States,  and  of  the 
meanest  of  Imperialisms  in  France.) 

Of  the  Sec3ssion  War  itself,  we  know,  in  tho  ostent,  what  has 
been  done.  The  numbers  of  the  dead  and  wounded  can  be  told, 
or  approximated,  the  debt  posted  and  put  on  recoivl,  the  material 
events  narrated,  &c.  Meantime,  the  war  being  over,  elections  go 
on,  laws  are  passed,  political  parties  struggle,  issue  their  jdat- 
forins,  &c.,  jiist  the  same  as  befoi'e.  But  immensest  resitlts  of  tho 
War — not  only  in  Politics,  but  in  Literature,  Poems,  and  Sociol- 
ogy— are  doubtless  waiting  yet  tmformed,  in  the  future.  Hov/ 
long  they  will  wait  I  cannot  tell.  The  pageant  of  History's 
retrospect  shows  us,  ages  since,  all  Europe  marching  on  tlic  Cru- 


Geneeal  Notes.  .  83 

sadcs,  those  wondrous  armed  iiprisings  of  tlio  People,  stirred  by 
a  mere  idea,  to  grandest  attempt — and,  when  once  bafHed  in  it, 
returning,  at  intervals,  twice,  thrice,  and  again.  An  unsurpassed 
series  of  revolutionary  events,  influences.  Yet  it  took  over  two 
liiiudred  years  for  the  seeds  of  the  Crusades  to  germinate  before 
beginning  even  to  sprout.  Two  hundred  years  they  lay,  sleeping, 
not  dead,  but  dormant  in  the  ground.  Then,  out  of  them,  un- 
erringly, arts,  travel,  navigation,  politics,  literature,  freedom,  in- 
ventions, the  spirit  of  adventure,  inquiry,  all  arose,  grew,  and 
steadily  sped  on  to  what  v/e  see  at  present.  Far  back  there,  that 
huge  agitation-struggle  of  the  Crusades,  stands,  as  undoubtedly 
the  embryo,  the  start,  of  the  high  preeminence  of  experiment, 
civilization  and  enterprise  whicli  tlie  European  nations  have  since 
sustained,  and  of  which  These  States  are  the  heirs. 

General  Suffrage,  EleCtioxs,  &c. — It  still  remains  doubtful 
to  me  vv'hether  these  vv-ill  ever  secure,  officially,  the  best  wit  and 
capacity — v.diether,  through  tliem,  the  first-class  geniuo  of  America 
will  ever  personally  appear  in  the  high  political  stations,  the  Presi- 
dency, Congress,  the  leading  State  offices,  &c.  Those  offices,  or 
the  candidacy  for  them,  arranged,  won,  by  caucusinj^,  nione}',  the 
favoritism  or  pecuniary  interest  of  rings,  the  superior  manipula- 
tion of  the  ins  over  the  outs,  or  the  outs  over  the  ins,  are,  indeed, 
at  best,  the  mere  business  agencies  of  the  people,  are  useful  as 
formulating,  neither  the  best  and  highest,  but  the  average  of  the 
public  judgment,  sense,  justice,  (or  sometimes  want  of  judgment, 
sense,  justice.)  We  elect  Presidents,  Congressmen,  &c.,  not  so 
much  to  have  them  consider  and  decide  for  us,  but  as  surest  jjrac- 
tical  means  of  exin-essing  the  will  of  majorities  on  mooted  ques- 
tions, measures,  &c. 

As  to  general  sulTrage,  after  all,  since  we  have  gone  so  far,  the 
more  general  it  is,  the  better.  I  favor  the  v/idest  opening  of  the 
doors.  Let  the  ventilation  and  area  be  wide  enough,  and  all  is 
safe.  Wo  can  never  have  a  born  penitentiary' -bird,  or  panel-thief, 
or  lowest  gambling-hell  or  groggery  keeper,  for  President — though 
sacli  may  not  only  emulate,  but  get,  high  offices  from  localities — 
even  from  the  proud  and  wealthy  city  of  New  York. 

State  Rights. — Freedom,  (under  the  universal  laws,)  and  the 
fair  and  uncramped  play  of  Individuality,  can  only  be  had  at  all 
through  strong-knit  cohesion,  identity.  There  are,  who,  talking 
of  the  rights  of  The  States,  as  in  separatism  and  independence, 
condemn  a  rigid  nationality,  centrality.  But  to  .my  mind,  the 
freedom,  as  tlie  existence  at  all,  of  The  States,  pre-necessitates 
such  a  Nationality,  an  imperial  Union.  Thus,  it  is  to  serve  sepa- 
ratism that  we  favor  generalization,  consolidntion.  It  is  to  give, 
under  the  compaction  of  potent  general  law,  an  independent 
vitality  and  sv»'ay  within  their  spheres,  to  The  States  singly, 
(really  just  as  important  a  part  of  our  scheme  as  the  sacred 
Union  itself,)  that  v/e  insist  on  the  jircservation  of  our  Nation- 


84  Democratic  Vistas. 

ality  forever,  and  fit  all  hazards.  I  say  neither  States,  nor  any 
thing  like  State  Rif^hts,  could  permanently  exist  on  any  other 
terms. 

Latest  rr.OJr  EcTROPr:. — As  I  send  my  last  pages  to  press, 
(Sept.  19,  1870,)  the  ocean-cable,  continuing  ils  daily  budget  of 
Franco-German  war-news — Louis  Naj^oleon  a  prisoner,  (his  rat- 
cunning  at  an  end) — the  conquerors  advanced  on  Paris — the 
French,  assuming  Ecpublican  forms — seeking  to  negotiate  with 
the  King  of  Prussia,  at  the  head  of  his  armies — "  liis  Majesty," 
says  the  despatch,  "refuses  to  treat,  on  any  terms,  with  a  govern- 
ment risen  oiit  of  Democracy." 

Let  us  note  the  words,  and  not  forget  them.  The  official  rela- 
tions of  Our  States,  we  know,  are  Avith  the  reigning  kings,  queens, 
&c.,  of  the  Old  World.  But  the  only  deep,  vast,  emotional,  real 
affinity  of  America  is  with  the  cause  of  Popular  Government 
there — and  especially  in  France.  0  that  I  could  express,  in  my 
printed  lines,  the  passionate  yearnings,  the  pulses  of  sympathy, 
forever  throbbing  in  the  heart  of  These  States,  for  sake  of  that — 
the  eager  eyes  forever  turned  to  that — watching  it,  struggling, 
appearing  and  disappearing,  often  apparently  gone  imder,  yet 
never  to  be  abandoned,  in  France,  Italy,  Spain,  Germany,  and  in 
the  British  Islands. 


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i^"  The  above  can  be  ordered  from  any  Bookseller. 
H^^  Published    in    New- York,    by    J.    S.    Redfielp,    140 

Fulton  Street,  up-staii's.     Dealers  supplied.     Single ' 

copies  sent  by  mail. 

JJ^"  Can  be  obtained  as  follows : 

WasJilngfoH,  J).  C. 

Philp  &  Solomon,  Pennsylvania  Avenue,  near  Nintli  Street. 
Parkek's,  Seventh  Street,  opposite  Post-office. 
Willard's  Hotel,  Pok-stanrl. 

Xew-York. 

llEDFiELD,  140  Fulton  Street. 

F.  B.  Felt,  455  Broome  Street.     (Dealers  sujiplied.) 

Brentano,  33  Union  Square,  Broadway. 

liosfoit. 

W.  H.  PiPRK  &  Co.,  138  Washington  Street. 

liroolxJyu. 

:\[.  XEvr.N,  302  Fulton  Street. 

London,   Eiif/land. 

TiUT.NRR,  60  Paternoster  Row. 

Sold  by  the  Author,  through  the  Post-office.     Address  at  Wtdii- 
ington,  D-  C.^  giving  full  Post-  ffice  address. 


i 


Date  Due 

^l  1  0  '4S 

^:  '):o  '- 

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